Simon Says
by ThunderSpeak
Summary: When lonely, children create imaginary friends. What would Harry do? Powerful!Harry and eventual slash.
1. Changes

Simon Says  
by  
Thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim_ any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence, the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend. Snape/Harry/OC  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please? I want to know if I should continue this fic or not. It is rated M for language, adult themes, and eventual smut.

* * *

"It's terrible!" Hermione gasped as she saw the Daily Prophet headline, "HARRY POTTER: MURDERER OR MADMAN?" She snatched the article form Harry's hands and ripped it in half, breaking through the numerous protective charms on the paper. She wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, after all.

Harry miserably sunk further into the cushions and wished he would be swallowed up. It _was_ terrible. Added to his many problems, now he had to worry about being accused of _murder? _

The whole situation stank like hippogriff shit, but Harry had his mind on a matter much more worrisome—the approaching summer with the Dursleys.

"Yeah, it's terrible," he whispered.

Minister Fudge was accusing him of murder and Voldemort was plotting his demise—but Harry didn't give a flying snitch. His thoughts were panicked, circling around a dozen horrible scenarios starring the Dursleys.

_"Kill the spare…"_ Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear his morose thoughts. Harry knew that so soon after Cedric's death, enduring the Dursley's hate and anger would shatter the cold indifference he showed them each summer.

_This summer_, Harry thought, _I'm simply not strong enough. _

_

* * *

_

Harry lingered by his bed, touching the gold and red curtains with fondness. He wished he could stay. _This _was home. In his hysteria he had pleaded with Dumbledore, even offering to help the house elves clean and cook. But the answer remained the same.

"No. But Harry, it _will_ get better."

"It will?"

"Yes. It will," the headmaster assured him, his blue eyes roaming over too-large clothes for a too-small frame. Dumbledore frowned.

Harry wondered if they were talking about the same thing. He was thinking of the Dursleys, but knowing Dumbledore, the old wizard could be talking about Voldemort or even the state of Harry's messy hair.

Optimism? Harry shrugged, and decided that being a little optimistic couldn't hurt.

During the train ride he repeated the mantra _it will get better_ at least a thousand times. He barely heard Hermione excitedly talk about a trip to Venice with her parents or Ron's groans about cleaning his room.

He ignored them both.

Harry didn't talk much during the train ride. When his friends didn't notice his silence or somber mood, he felt an unexpected sting of disappointment. Rationally, Harry knew they couldn't be blamed. Hermione was lucky to have a family who took her on vacations and Ron… he was acting as anyone his age would, feeling as if the world would end if he had to clean his room.

Harry started a new mantra; _I will not resent them for having loving families, who at most, make them clean their rooms. _This mantra didn't work so well, because Harry could only think of the numerous chores _he _got and all the vacations the Dursleys went on whilst leaving him behind.

Harry's dark thoughts were interrupted when they finally arrived. He searched the crowds for his Uncle and seeing him, red-faced angry and impatiently checking his watch every few moments, Harry shoulders drooped in disappointment. Uncle Vernon looked the same as always.

_Optimism_? Harry scoffed. He should have known better to feel hope.

Gathering up his courage, Harry walked to Vernon with hesitance, as if approaching a wild animal. The car ride back to Surrey was surprisingly quiet. However, the peace didn't last long.

It seemed his Uncle's unusual silence was just an accumulation of air because as soon as they stepped into the house, Harry was yelled at for being a freak and a nuisance and was harshly thrown into the cupboard.

The cupboard had been tiny when he was ten. Now, Harry was forced to curl up into a ball. It was uncomfortable and he had the sudden urge to cry.

His situation was _not_ better—it was worse. The Dursleys were more hateful towards Harry then ever before. His previous threats of a murderously protective godfather no longer worked because when Dumbledore contacted them, he had casually mentioned that Sirius was in hiding. _Thanks, Headmaster. _

Days passed.

Harry's stomach constantly clenched in hunger and unless he managed to drink from the hose, his throat was parched. He was also covered in grime and sweat the majority of the time because they deemed showers too luxurious for him.

After the first week, the Dursleys decided they didn't want to look at his ugly face anymore, even to have their house cleaned, so he spent most of his days curled up in the cupboard, lonely and forgotten.

Harry waited for letters from Hermione or Ron, but Hedwig always returned with mournful eyes and an empty beak. Harry waited for Hagrid to knock down the front door, but the door remained ugly, yellow, and most importantly, _unbroken. _

_Someone to save the savior! _Harry chuckled darkly and almost hysterically at the irony.

He waited, but weeks passed and nobody came to rescue poor Harry. They all assumed he was safe, because in their eyes, Voldemort was the only threat to the Boy-Who-Lived.

* * *

"**FUDGE SPEAKS: YOU-KNOW-WHO HAS **_**NOT **_**RETURNED"**  
_by Rita Skeeter _

"_After the terrible events that occurred at the __TriWizard Tournament__, Minister Fudge graciously spoke to me, Rita Skeeter, to clear the heavy fog of fear._

_Fudge: You-Know-Who has not returned._

_Skeeter: Harry Potter seems to believe otherwise. Is the __Wizarding World__ unsafe?_

_Fudge: Mr. Potter is simply mistaken. The Wizarding World has never been safer. If anyone was to be under scrutiny, it should me Mr. Potter. How can we take his word as the truth?_

_Skeeter: The Boy-Who-Lived, a liar? Do tell, Minister._

_Fudge: I believe with complete certainty that the Boy-Who-Lived is using his reputation to avoid punishment._

_Skeeter: Are you saying… Harry Potter _murdered _Cedric Diggory__?_

_Fudge: Without any doubt, I believe Harry Potter is nothing more then the Boy-Who-Murdered._

_Skeeter: Scandalous! Why have you not taken action to have him arrested, Minister?_

_Fudge: When Mr. Potter returns for his fifth year at Hogwarts, he will be heavily questioned by top Aurors under Veritaserum. Until then, we must respect Amos Diggory's wishes. The father of the deceased believes Mr. Potter should have a peaceful summer._

_Skeeter: He doesn't believe Mr. Potter murdered his son?_

_Fudge: No, but we must remember that the grief stricken are not always rational._

_Skeeter: Very true. Well, thank you for your time Minister…_

_Fudge: My pleasure. I just want what's best for my fellow Wizards and Witches. They must know that Mr. Potter can no longer be trusted._

* * *

Most people are afraid of the dark. Not Harry.

When he was thrown into the cupboard and locked in, Harry relaxed. He was in a bubble of warmth and darkness that protected him from the Dursleys.

When he was younger, Harry would press his ear to the air vent and listen to his Uncle and Aunt go about their day—the hum of the refrigerator, the splash of water, and the buzz of the telly. All the sounds represented a normal, suburban family. It was during those moments that Harry thought being locked up was a good thing, because he would be horrified with himself if his ugliness ever tarnished their beauty.

When he watched their love for each other, Harry thought that their hate towards him must be well reasoned. He never questioned that there might be something wrong with _them. _

Sometimes, Harry would close his eyes and imagine he was with his relatives. He would fantasize eating pizza with Dudley while they watched the newest sitcom and letting Aunt Petunia wipe tomato sauce off his face.

In reality, Dudley always squealed and pushed his mother away when she tried to wipe his face off. Despite his behavior, Petunia never looked at her son with anger. When she looked at Dudley, even if it was after he received straight F's on his report card, her eyes were always filled with affection and an infinite amount of love. Harry imagined that before Lily died, his mother looked at him just like that.

When Harry caught a cold he was looked at with disgust and when he came home with straight A's, they yelled at him. _Harry wished… _

Now as a boy of almost 15 years, Harry was not as ignorant. He knew they would never give him the love he so desperately craved. He watched them hug and laugh and smile, and sometimes Harry hated them. That was fine because they hated Harry back. He was different and strange and when he levitated food, he was dangerous. Their feelings towards Harry began as fear but soon morphed into hate.

So they locked away their fear and hate into a cupboard. Harry's only companions were the dust bunnies under his cot and tiny spiders, clinging to their webs.

* * *

Harry's fear of silence was one aspect of his youth that never changed. During his fourth year summer, the first night back at the Dursley's was the worst. His relatives were asleep and Harry didn't have Hedwig's comforting hoots because Vernon had thrown her out the window earlier that day.

Silence crept across the house, huge and suffocating.

Locked in the small cupboard, he could hear his rapid heart beat and his shallow breaths. Harry wanted to hear something else, _anything_ else, because those sounds were nothing special.

_Kill the spare, _echoed a thousand times in his head.

In a panic, Harry told stories to himself to break the silence. He whispered tales about flying motorcycles, men with red eyes, and goblins in the earth. He even spoke the forbidden word—magic.

Eventually, Harry ran out of stories to tell. He shivered in the silence, ashamed of the fat tears rolling down his face. Then, an image blossomed out of the darkness with warmth and presence and _sound. _Simon arrived in his small cupboard, choking and sneezing on dust.

Harry thought Simon was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Please give me feedback on whether to continue it or not. Cheers!  
**

**-thunderspeak  
**


	2. Moments

Simon Says  
by  
Thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim_any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence, the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend. Snape/Harry/OC  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

Harry hates good dreams. He doesn't have them often, but when he does, Harry hates them with an intensity usually saved for Voldemort. His good dreams are filled with blue skies and the taste of freedom. Each time he awakes half-giddy and exhilarated, the dream still lingering on the edge of his thoughts. But the moment passes and the heavy weight of reality settles on him.

There is no sunshine or sweet freedom—there are only shadows in his cupboard and the taste of dust.

Harry thought he was dreaming when the boy arrived. For weeks Harry had been wishing for a companion, but he knew that mere words didn't have the power to conjure a human being. It was disappointing when Harry realized that being a wizard didn't solve all of his problems, such as the Dursleys or his dead parents or being an awkward, friendless boy.

Out of all the wishes he's made, why was _I wish I could talk to someone other than the Dursleys _have to be the one that came true?

Harry clawed at his arm and watched dots of blood bubble up, waiting to wake up, but this wasn't a dream.

"You're crazy," the strange boy murmured, his voice muffled into Harry's leg. Hot breath touched Harry's skin.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded as he pulled away. Before the boy could answer, his eyes slid shut and he fell into unconsciousness.

Harry sighed and decided he might as well observe the unexpected intruder. The boy looked like death; pale skin and straight, shoulder-length black hair. He had a small nose on a lean face made of sharp angles. Harry had yet to see his eyes.

_Beautiful _was the only word to describe him.

Harry was more masculine; gruffer, messier, and tanner. Harry was life and color, whereas the boy was painted in shades of gray, looking as if he would dissipate at any moment. He had a supernatural aura to him, like a ghost.

The small boy made him nervous—the darkness that seemed to swell around him and his strange appearance… one question pestered Harry; _What if he was a Death Eater?_ He stared at the boy's left arm, covered by a sleeve. _Should he?_ Harry reached forward, hands shaking, and pulled back the cloth. Pale unmarked skin.

The boy stirred and Harry yanked his hand back, not wanting to be caught in the act of undressing him. That would lead to awkward questions.

"Who are you?" Harry immediately asked. The boy looked at him with black eyes that seemingly sucked in the light, and smirked. "I'm Simon of course."

Harry hated Divination, but in that moment he undoubtedly knew that this boy/figment of his imagination would soon become very annoying.

He was right.

* * *

Harry would have questioned Simon's sudden appearance more thoroughly, but he was so desperate for companionship… Simon was someone to talk to and that was all that mattered. Instead, Harry observed.

The first day, Harry learned many things about Simon.

No one else could see Simon. The beautiful boy was reserved for Harry's eyes and he felt a sense of pleasure in it—for once something belonged solely to _him._ Simon wasn't some castoff toy of Dudley's. Plus, Simon wasn't a bad view.

* * *

"Boy!" Vernon bellowed, pounding his fat fist on the cupboard door. Dust swirled in the air, carrying tiny spiders.

Harry peeked outside only for a moment before Vernon grabbed his hair and dragged him out, not bothering to be careful. Harry turned and looked at Simon, frantically pleading with his eyes for help_. _That day Harry also learned that his friend wouldn't, or _couldn't _leave the cupboard.

Simon simply sat, eyes feral and his fingernails ripping into his pants.

"What are you looking at?" Vernon demanded, his own beady eyes searching for what the wizard stared at so intently.

"Nothing Sir," Harry softly replied as he stared into Simon's black eyes. His sadness wasn't mirrored there, but twisted into anger and hate… emotions Harry refused to feel but instead allowed Simon to feel for him.

"Crazy freak," Vernon muttered under his breath, "You better not pull any of your nasty wizard tricks here…" Vernon's voice faded away as Harry tuned him out, wishing for the first time that he could be back in the cupboard.

* * *

Simon never asked questions. He seemed to arrive equipped with all the necessary _Harry _knowledge. Small things, like that Harry actually hated pumpkin juice, but drank it anyways because it pleased his friends. Bigger things such as Cedric, the Dursleys, his parents and his nightmares.

Harry never questioned his innate knowledge. Simon, however, compensated for his lack of questions with complaints.

* * *

Simon glared at the wall, his eyes tracing grains of wood, and said, "I wish we had a window."

"I wish we had food."

Simon looked at him, amused. "Well, life's not fair, is it?"

"No," Harry whispered, "It isn't."

* * *

"Will you come with me to Hogwarts?"Harry asked Simon. His friend went unusually silent—a sharp contrast to his never ending complaints.

Every night before they went to sleep, Harry would ask Simon this question and would strain his ears for an answer.

Harry didn't get one.

* * *

"You should come outside with me," Harry said, half-hopeful that Simon could protect him from Dudley despite being invisible.

Ink-eyes sleepily stared at him.

"I can't."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, feeling a sense of Déjà vu. He frequently had to ask this question, because often, Simon didn't make much sense. He reminded Harry of Dumbledore.

"If I leave the cupboard I'll die."

"Oh," Harry blinked, "That sucks."

They both laughed a little like weeping.

* * *

Harry soon learned that Simon had a taste for vengeance in him that was very, _very _scary.

"We'll tear him apart—starting with the fingers."

Harry smelt like dirt and blood. His body ached from weeding, but more importantly, from the thrashing Dudley gave him with the hose.

_I'm not an animal! _Harry angrily thought.

"Then we'll bury him beneath the petunias for irony. Beatles and worms will crawl into his mouth-" Simon whispered, an eerie excitement on his face. The shadows played on the contours of his face, and when he smiled, it looked like he was swallowing darkness.

"Please, stop!" Harry pleaded, feeling nauseous from the rotten images. He was disgusted with himself. Deep down, Harry felt a twinge of pleasure at the idea of Dudley being _gone._

"Choking him, _killing him_-"

"No! I don't want that!"

Simon stared at him, his eyes challenging. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Harry groaned, and added more calmly, "Yes. I'm sure."

Simon leered and crawled onto the cot, his limbs cat-like and predatory. He settled next to Harry and trailed cold fingers along bruises. Eventually Harry drifted off to sleep, lulled by Simon's dark songs of murder and hate and vengeance.

* * *

"Will you eat me today?" black eyes peered into his.

"No. Not today."

Every day it was the same. As Harry lied in his cupboard, his stomach gurgling with acid, Simon asked him that question. At first, Harry looked at him in disgust until Simon explained what he'd meant.

"_Eat _you? I'm not into cannibalism."

"Merlin, not _literally. _The word choice was just so…" Simon licked his lips, "Delightful."

"Creep," Harry laughed, "What did you mean?"

"Take my magic. Gain strength, erase your bruises, ease the hunger," Simon said, snickering when Harry's stomach chose that moment to growl.

"Oh. What will happen to you?"

Simon carelessly shrugged. "I might die."

Harry declined. He was weak and hungry, but he'd rather starve then eat his only friend. 

* * *

"The blood wards protect you from Voldemort?" Simon asked, his malicious tone promising an unwanted conversation.

"Yes…" Harry cautiously replied. Simon reached out, quick as a viper, and dug his fingernails into Harry's arm and hissed, "What protects you from _them_?"

Harry's heart sank. "Nothing."

"Do you hate them?"

"No."

"It's easy to hate."

"Stop it. I don't hate them."

"Of course you do," Simon sneered. Harry recoiled with a harsh breath, seeing an uncanny resemblance to Malfoy on his friends face. But Simon drew him back and lovingly traced the bruise on Harry's arm. "_Look _what they've done to you."

"They… they're just frightened."

Simon laughed darkly. "You think you _deserve_ this?"

"No!" Harry protested, his voice cracking in desperation. The light-bulb flickered above them. _Shiite._

"You _do_ think that. Stop trying to lie—impossible for a Gryffindor, after all."

Simon didn't think much of Gryffindors—he frequently called them stupid and immature and chastised Harry for not accepting the Sorting Hat's desire to place him in Slytherin.

Simon, it seemed, would've been in Slytherin. Strangely, Harry didn't mind having a Slytherin for a friend. He chalked it up to being with the Dursleys. In comparison to them, he'd be appreciative of having a _basilisk _for companionship, and Simon was just as bad.

* * *

Tendrils of hair drifted to the floor. Harry nervously sat at the kitchen bar while his Aunt snipped at his hair, ignoring Harry's flinches when she cut a little too close to his ear.

Petunia's lip was curled like she smelled something rotten and she held the scissors at arms length, as if she was afraid Harry would use magic and attack her with them._ I should attack her, _Harry vindictively thought after he saw his hair in the window's reflection. It was short, jagged, and curling awkwardly in various directions. He looked like a mad scientist.

"Will this grow back?" she demanded.

"No, Aunt Petunia."

He yelped when she jabbed him with the scissors. "It better not, you little monster. I won't stand for this freaky business in my household."

Harry nodded silently as he fixedly stared at blood on his arm. His Uncle always called him dirty blood, and he had an impulse to lick it and see if it _tasted_ dirty.

"Now clean up this mess."

Harry dropped to his hands and knees and crawled along the floor, picking up his monstrous hair. He dumped it in the trash can on top of the wasted food the Dursleys threw away. They'd rather feed the rats than him.

Later, Simon and Harry sat side by side in the darkness with their thighs pressed together.

Simon peered at Harry's hair with distaste but knew better to voice his thoughts. Harry was having one of _those _days when the Dursleys' words managed to pierce his armor and settle into the soft core of his heart, festering.

"I'm a monster?" Harry asked, his voice caught on a sob. He was accustomed to being called a freak but a _monster…_ the only monster he'd ever known was Voldemort. Harry felt weak and stupid for caring what they thought.

Simon spoke, his words heavy, "Monsters aren't born, they're made."

* * *

"Where did you come from?" Harry asked. Simon looked at him, half-amused and half-irritated. It had been _such _a peaceful night.

"The answer is in your tiny, deficient brain."

"You don't have to insult me…" Harry grumbled even as he began to search his mind for clues. He found nothing. Simon was elusive about his past and displayed no hints about his origin.

After a few minutes of Harry's frustrated huffs, Simon took pity and gave him a hint.

"I am real, if that was what you were wondering."

"… you sure?"

Simon gave a long, suffering sigh. "Shut up, Harry. You're only cute when you don't talk."

"Why are you so _mean_?"

Simon laughed until his belly ached and tears ran down his face. Harry felt like an outsider looking in.

* * *

Simon wasn't so bad after all. Although he complained about the lack of food (which didn't make much sense considering Simon never ate) and insulted Harry more often than Malfoy ever did, he knew when to stop and what buttons not to push.

* * *

After Harry realized he was able to fully stand in the cupboard, Simon almost teased Harry about his shortness. But Simon bit his tongue because he knew if he did, Harry would never stand in the cupboard again.

It wasn't his fault after all—Lily and James were both tall people, but nurture was a powerful force. It interfered when Harry was placed with the Dursleys, and a lack of food, exercise, sun, and love… stunted his growth and made his bones weak. It was no wonder he broke them so often. Harry was like a bird; fragile, but with dangerous claws and a yearning for freedom.

Simon composed a list of what insults were allowed and which weren't.

Not allowed: Harry's parents, his appearance, or his intelligence. Allowed: the Dursleys and Hermione/Ron/Gryffindors. It seemed Harry wasn't so loyal to his school friends or Gryffindor after all. This made Simon absurdly pleased.

Simon also learned about Harry.

Harry tried so hard to please his adoptive relatives and would've loved them if they let him. And Harry's love isn't something to laugh over. He loves fully and with an almost frightening intensity. Once trust is established, his starvation for affection will rear its head and beg for touch and warmth. Simon snickers, thinking of the wild ride it will be for Harry's future lovers.

Simon also learned that although the scar on Harry's forehead is the most famous, it isn't the worst. He discovered this during one of his 'Stare creepily at Harry when he's sleeping' sessions. Simons' favorite parts of Harry were his hands—small but powerful with long fingers and calloused palms from years of gardening and Quidditch.

One night, Simon noticed something peculiar—almost unnoticeable raised white spots. They looked strange and for a minute Simon stared, baffled. He touched them, careful not to wake Harry, who for once was sleeping peacefully and not screaming, sobbing, and/or hissing.

Simon pulled back with a hiss of his own when he realized what they were; tiny burn bumps, mapping Harry's palms and the top of his hands. A sudden scene rose in his mind, unwanted.

Harry, standing in the Dursleys kitchen, small and strong against them, the adults who _should_ have cared for him and _could _have loved him but could have's and should have's are only words, just flimsy wishes. The only word that mattered to Harry was one he knew all too well; alone. Should have, could have, _didn't_

Simon imagined Harry spilling water or burning their bacon and looking up fearfully, mumbling unheard apologies. He imagined them punishing Harry, not for his mistake but for his freakiness, grabbing his fragile beautiful hands and pressing them to the scalding stove, listening to his ugly screams…

Simon decided at the moment he would kill the Dursleys, if Harry let him. But Simon knew Harry was too kind, too forgiving, too affection starved to allow that—so Simon would just have to be discreet and manipulative, like the good Slytherin he should have been so long ago.

* * *

Another thing Harry learned was that Simon had to be real.

Simon was just too annoying to be a figment of his imagination. If Harry had an imaginary friend, they'd at least be nice. But Simon wasn't nice. He was arrogant and sometimes he was cruel.

And Harry wasn't crazy. He wasn't.

* * *

The school year was approaching fast and Harry repeated the mantra, _I will go flying as soon as possible. _

His memory of the summer was a blur of chores and hunger with a few scattered moments of sharp pain from a slap or shove. However, the worst part of his summer was having no contact from the Wizarding World or even Hermione,

_Who, _he thought bitterly, _couldn't bother to send me a letter during her vacation in Venice. _

His one regret was leaving Simon, his best friend and savior in the dark.

Simon was also unhappy, although he expressed it much differently than Harry did. He was angry most of the time and only spoke in clipped responses when not silent. Harry never thought he'd miss Simons' complaints and insults, but he preferred them to this unnerving silence.

Harry was patient though, because while he got to go to Hogwarts, Simon had to stay in the cupboard and listen to the Dursleys all year long. He'd also be bitter.

* * *

Only two days until school and Harry was horribly anxious.

Harry became giddy and careless with his chores, thinking he was safe because surely, Uncle Vernon wouldn't dare leave any marks for the school faculty to see. Harry thought his Uncle was smarter then that.

Harry was wrong.

* * *

**AN: Sorry it took so long. I was being really nit-picky about this. Please Review? :)**


	3. Shatter

Simon Says  
by  
Thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim _any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence, the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend.  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

Harry didn't like to be touched. It mattered little if it was a friend expressing affection, he still hated it. _Any _contact made him uncomfortable. It was due to years of conditioning, of associating touch with pain—if contact was made at all. This simple human expression that was so _easy _for others was incomprehensible to him. Even at the age of fifteen, Harry had to resist flinching when Mrs. Weasley pulled him into one of her bone-crushing hugs.

The first day at Hogwarts was terrifying. He was surrounded by hundreds of students, casually brushing against him without so much a flicker of fear. He, on the other hand, continually expected Dudley and his friends to appear and beat him up while other students circled around them, laughing and jeering _Freak_. It was an often occurrence at his old school, but none of this happened—in fact, many students ignored him, too busy trying to get to class on time.

Well, until they saw his scar—then he was the center of attention. Harry was baffled by their reactions of kindness bordering on worship. Kindness directed at him, the freak? It was too strange. It was only when he entered Potions class and was greeted with a hateful glare that Harry relaxed. Finally, something that made sense in this new and unusual world.

Bunking with other boys was even more disconcerting. The first night he changed behind the curtains, shamefully hiding his small and pale body from onlookers. He cocooned himself in a fortress of pillows and blankets, trying to replicate the safety of his cupboard. He never fell asleep, the snoring of his roommates jarring in the small space.

He remembered the first time Hermione hugged him. It was after the troll incident, and in gratitude, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Harry paled and waited for her to hiss an insult into his ear and shove him to the floor. Aunt Petunia did that once—tricking him into a hug. Instead, Hermione pulled back with a laugh and called him a "deer in headlights" and then proceeded to inform Ron what headlights were, as if Harry wasn't currently redefining his entire concept of healthy relationships.

Years later, Harry found himself in a similar situation. He awoke during the night hissing parseltongue (a frequent occurrence), and soon realized Simon's arm was slung over him as the strange boy slept. The arm was heavy and cold, bony fingers digging into Harry's hip like claws possessively attached to its meal. Harry, although internally panicking, froze and resisted the itching urge to push Simon off the cot and scrub his skin raw.

However, awaking Simon was not the solution; in fact, the situation would likely worsen. Simon was too arrogant to feel embarrassment, and would tease Harry and play the moment off as unimportant.

But this moment _was _important; it unraveled all of Harry's views of himself and left him bare and questioning, _What is this strange feeling?_ Asleep, Simon was helpless and was no threat to Harry. With this power, this sense of control, Harry's fear of touch dissipated and in its place a strange… _happiness _rose. Simon's soft breaths on his neck were soothing—Harry hardly cared that it was a boy clinging to him. It was flesh, providing a sense of comfort and security he was beginning to understand.

He mused over his rare experiences with girls. Last year he shared a few shy glances with Cho Chang that now caused guilt to bubble up. Also, there were the occasional compliments from Lavender and the Patil twins, plus the hero worship from Ginny. Any other advances were because of his celebrity status, not because they found him to be cute or funny. It was the scar that mattered.

_It's strange, _Harry thought, _I can't remember ever talking to Ron about girls. _Late into the night, Ron talked about which girl had the best chest/butt/etc. and told raunchy jokes, occasionally garnering a wince or chuckle from Harry. Mostly Harry stayed quiet, lost in his thoughts on matters he deemed more important—school, the safety of his friends, and the looming war against a madman. But… was this excuse valid any longer?

Harry painted a picture of a girl in his mind; wide hips and large breasts, dressed in revealing undergarments. The image licked her lips and straddled him, warm feminine thighs wrapped around his waist and breasts bouncing as she—in the darkness, Harry felt nothing, not even a stir of arousal. It was disappointing.

Then the picture radically changed—a flat, muscular chest and abs replaced the girl's hourglass figure, a man who had an obvious bulge within his boxers. Harry groaned softly and closed his eyes, adding detail. Soon, the boy had a striking resemblance to Charlie Weasley. Harry wondered what Ron would say about these fantasies that were very much _not _about Ginny. There was a sort of twisted humor in it.

_Was he gay?_ Harry didn't want to make any quick decisions—and admittedly, he felt a twinge of shame. Was he what Dudley called homosexuals? Was he a _fairy? _The Dursleys hated homosexuals, anything different, although Harry had learned over time not to place too much stock in their opinions. The Wizarding World was neutral over the issue—when Charlie Weasley revealed he was bisexual to his family, Mrs. Weasley continued to cook dinner and absently said, "Of course, darling. Just make sure I get some grandkids." The main concern regarding homosexuals in the muggle world was their inability to have children, but magic did wonderful things and this wasn't an issue in the wizarding world.

_Does it matter if I'm gay or not? _Harry thought. He didn't have time for romance.

And even if there was time, he doubted he would be able to stomach the closeness, physically and emotionally. It seemed terrifying—trusting someone so explicitly. No, Harry was alone, and he planned on staying that way for a very long time.

Simon smiled in the darkness—noting the progress in Harry, who had gradually relaxed under his touch. It was a small stepping stone to Harry's survival and happiness—to learn to trust. Harry had few allies, and keeping them at arms length was counterproductive. It would be difficult training Harry; his behavior was so deeply ingrained.

Simon also knew he'd have to prepare Harry for the worst—because someday, they would part. Harry would need someone by his side after Simon left, to support him and to care for him unconditionally. In fact, Simon had the perfect person in mind.

* * *

The next day Harry's thoughts were distant, preoccupied with visions of Hogwarts. His summer with the Dursleys had been shattering—more violence, chores, and hatred from them then ever before—but the truly disheartening aspect had been the isolation from his friends and Dumbledore. If he had only received _one _letter it would have comforted him.

So, he felt relief and dread that the summer was ending. For the first time, Harry didn't want to see his friends. He didn't want to hear them gush about their summer or complain about insignificant troubles.

Harry loved them—or at least, cared for them as much as he was capable—but he knew there was a darkness in him they would never accept. Harry was Gryffindor, but he was also Slytherin, and he was tired of hiding such a large part of himself.

Lost in his thoughts, he paid half a mind to his chores that day—which at the moment, was dusting the living room. Suddenly, he glimpsed a flash of color and shape—it was Dudley, running towards him with malicious glee on his face. His cousin barreled into him, the heavy weight knocking Harry to the floor.

Harry glared at Dudley and was ready to berate him, but noticed the Urn he had been dusting waver on the shelf and tip. Harry watched in horror as it fell to the ground and shattered, ashes and shards of pottery littering the floor.

_Merlin, _he thought, as he trembled in sickening realization—that Urn held the ashes of Vernon's mother and Harry had just destroyed any remaining memory of her. Uncle Vernon was going to kill him—actually kill him this time. Distantly, he heard Simon in the cupboard, shouting at him to _run! _

"Daaaad!" Dudley wailed, "The freak killed Grandma!"

Harry began to scramble back, ready to bolt out the door—but a large hand grabbed his shirt and lifted him off the ground, weightless. Vernon's face was inches from his, blotchy and red.

"What's the meaning of this?" he growled, spittle and onion breath covering Harry's face.

Harry struggled, but the hands on his shoulders tightened. He considered blaming Dudley, but quickly remembered that blaming his cousin would just cause more trouble (because heaven forbid, _Dudley_ do anything wrong) so instead, Harry lied.

"I was dusting and lost balance. Sorry, Uncle Vernon," he murmured, careful to keep his eyes lowered. Harry learned at a young age that freaks weren't _allowed_ to make eye contact with normal people.

Vernon glanced at the mess on the floor and paused, realization and anger building in his eyes. Harry couldn't breathe, he was so frightened. Uncle Vernon roared and he yelled—but he _never_ went silent. It was too quiet.

Finally, Vernon's grip slackened and he released Harry—and for a moment, Harry felt a twinge of hope that he was being released—but no. Vernon looked at him, an animal-like expression on his face, hunger for vengeance.

"Take off your shirt boy," he whispered. Harry stared at his uncle in bewilderment for a moment until Vernon shouted, "NOW!"

Harry jolted and quickly peeled off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his tiny waist, shivering from the exposure. Harry watched Vernon unbuckle his belt, and he flinched when he heard the snap and slither of leather. His uncle moved closer.

"Petunia always stopped me, afraid that those freaks would find out but… they've abandoned you, haven't they?"

"No!" Harry protested, inwardly thinking with alarm, _How did he know? _Vernon ignored his outburst.

"Haven't seen any of those disgusting birds," he snickered, "It seems you're too freakish for the freaks!"

Done with words, Vernon raised the belt.

* * *

Harry hated a lot of things. But he soon realized that the thing he hated most of all, more than he hated Voldemort, was time.

Sometimes it moved too fast, sometimes too slow—and always at the speed most inconvenient.

* * *

Harry ached.

_Whap! _The leather strap descended, again and again, never ending. His back stung and he tasted blood. Harry felt so _weak_ and damned himself for choosing Gryffindor, the symbol of bravery when at the moment he felt like a coward.

He should have chosen Slytherin. In this situation, bravery did him no good.

_Whap! _

"Stupid boy," Uncle Vernon added with a grunt. As if being insulted hurt him at a time like this! All Harry could feel was _pain, pain, pain-_

_Whap! _Another hit, this time with the metal buckle biting in his skin. _Was this hell?_ he questioned, and for a moment, Harry wished he was dead. _Mum, Dad…_Harry wished to be with them, the people who loved him unconditionally.

His parents would've loved him no matter what, scar or no scar. They would've loved _all of him, _Slytherin and Gryffindor. They… Harry abruptly stopped fantasizing of a perfect world with his parents, because it didn't matter, because they were dead.

After a while, whipping him with the belt grew tiring for Vernon. He discarded the belt and kicked Harry in the side, smiling viciously at the sound of cracking ribs.

"You'll thank me for this one day, boy!"

Harry looked into the hall and saw the cupboard door— it was open, and Simon looked furious.

"Help…" Harry whispered, his voice muffled into the carpet floor. Simon whined low in his throat, distressed, but remained frozen. Harry began to cry fat tears at the realization that even Simon, his best friend, could do nothing to stop his Uncle.

"Once I'm done there'll be no freakiness left in you!"

Vernon roughly pulled Harry's pants off, and slapped the pretty pale skin—watching in satisfaction as it bloomed red. Disgusted, Harry clawed at the carpet, trying to slither away from his uncle; but it was to no avail. Vernon grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him back.

"_Eat me._"

Harry glanced at Simon, who stared at him pleadingly. _Eat me? _Harry didn't understand.

"_Take my power!_"

"I don't know how!" Harry cried in frustration.

Vernon ignored the outburst and continued to slap his nephew, occasionally digging his fingernails into the supple flesh. His eyes glinted with manic joy.

_"Do you agree to take my strength as your own?"_

Vernon faltered, looking wildly around for the unfamiliar voice. Unable to find the source, he grew angrier. He flipped Harry over and wrapped his large hands around the boys neck, squeezing, wanting to destroy the freak—the life of the boy who'd caused him so much trouble over the years.

Harry's vision spotted white, and he dizzily thrashed against his uncle, choking for air.

"I agree!" he gasped.

In a rush of cold air, the cupboard door was ripped from its hinges. Simon exited the darkness and stood in the hallway. He stood as a beacon of power and his eyes burnt with the fires of hell, fastened on Vernon. Simon's lip curled as if he were looking down at a disgusting and insignificant bug.

With a lazy flick of Simon's hand, Vernon was torn off of Harry and thrown into the wall. The house shuddered from the impact and plaster crumbled to the floor.

The man looked up, dizzy and bleeding, animal fear on his face as he wildly searched for who, or _what _had thrown him. Nothing was to be found except for Harry. Meanwhile, Dudley, who had observed the entire incident, rushed to his father and blubbered half-coherent words of fear.

Petunia ran down the stairs, a gardening magazine clasped tight in her hand, and looked upon the scene. She paled at the sight of her bleeding husband and her son grunting with exhaustion as he tried to lift his father from the floor; and lastly and most _certainly _least, the freak, staining her white carpet with his dirty blood. Petunia tiptoed over plaster and glass towards her family.

Simon visibly radiated power—his hair stood as if he had been electrocuted and with each breath he took, the air around him swelled. However, he was unseen by the muggles.

Finally, Vernon stumbled up with the aid of Petunia and Dudley and they inched towards the door. Dudley and Vernon escaped the home, but Petunia paused on the threshold and turned hateful eyes on Harry.

"Freak," she spat, her voice shaking in anger, "You better be gone by the time we come back." She promptly turned on her heel and exited the house.

It was silent. Harry felt the pain and exhaustion clearly then, and allowed himself to sink into slumber.

* * *

After Harry fell unconscious, Simon buried his anger beneath layers of stoicism. It would do no good to be clouded with anger now—he had a job to do. He stretched his arms upwards and felt the bones in his shoulders and neck pop with air. After being in that awful cupboard for so long, he relished in the feel of open space. He inhaled clean air.

Simon marched upstairs and entered Dudley's second bedroom. The room was filled with heaps of old toys and clothing, all belonging to that spoiled brat—but more importantly, there was a large chest. Harry's chest—dust covered and half-hidden. With an ordered hiss from Simon, the chest shook and rumbled and slid after him. It followed him downstairs and settled next to Harry with a happy sigh, pleased to be back with its owner.

Simon stared at Harry, his eyes troubled and disappointed. If Harry was to win this war, incidents like these must never happen again. Harry would have to fight, and eventually, he would be required to kill. Dumbledore's idea of mercy held no weight against Death Eaters, who felt no unease towards torturing and killing.

Harry was gentle; he never wished harm on anyone, even the Dursleys, the very people who had scarred him the deepest. However, in opposition to this gentleness in Harry was a strength—his love, running deep. It was natural; after so long without an outlet for his affection, the few people he cared for became his conduits. With this love came a protectiveness—if someone threatened the people he loved, Harry was no longer gentle—he was lethal.

Harry was fine just the way he was, but Simon knew to survive, Harry would have to learn to fight—to stand up for himself. Harry would have to reveal his Slytherin side, which was buried deep within him because he feared rejection. But once it was released, once they were joined—Simon grinned. Harry would be unstoppable.

Simon knelt beside Harry and gently pulled the weak body to him. With a swell of magic and a small pop of air, they disappeared.

* * *

**AN: Sorry that took so long to update. I contracted the flu, which hindered a lot of progress. But thank you for waiting! Sadly, I don't really like this chapter. I feel I could have done more with it-but oh well!**

**Also, a major question. I know the pairing is said to be Snape/Harry, but if I wrote that pairing, no romance would occur for a very long time. I'm fine with them being together, but right now Harry is just entering fifth year and I don't feel comfortable with them being in a relationship when Harry is just fifteen. Any romance would have to wait till he's in his 7th year. So, would you be willing to wait?**

**On the other hand, I could pair Harry up with someone else (I had a certain blond Slytherin in mind). In that case, romance would occur much sooner. So, will you guys offer your opinion in review?**

**Thank you for reading! Love my readers very much, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
-thunderspeak :)**


	4. Memories

Simon Says  
by  
thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim _any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend.  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

Severus Snape strolled across the Hogwarts grounds and admired the beauty of the day. It was sunny, peaceful and quiet—Severus scowled. Two days were left until the school year began, bringing noisy and troublesome children. He hated noise, especially when it was children whining about a little extra homework.

Severus hates children. He could list a hundred offensive qualities about the miniature beasts but primarily it was two he hated the most—arrogance and immaturity. Severus hates a lot of things.

He hates dogs. They're unnecessarily hyper; flea covered and they have a brain the size of a pea. He also hates Sirius Black, but he'd never noticed the difference between the two.

Severus hates Granger and the Weasley twins for opposing reasons; Granger was too much of a brown nose and the deviant redheads weren't respectful enough. They were all arrogant. They all thought they could rise above others, that they were better.

Then, his adversaries: James Potter and his spawn. James passed all of who he was to his son—the arrogance, the immaturity, the insufferable goodness.

Harry Potter. He breaks the rules meant to keep him safe and disrespects his superiors. He turns away any assistance so he can reap all of the glory for himself. Selfish and so smug it makes Severus want to vomit. He clearly remembers the first time he saw the Boy-Who-Lived. The little brat stared at him in defiance, as if saying, "Do your worst." Severus gleefully accepted the challenge, knowing he would win.

He'd finally win the war against the Potters—against James—by smashing his son's soul to bits until he was in his proper place: sniveling for forgiveness. The honor should have been James, but alas, he was dead. Harry was alive therefore the punishment transferred to him.

Severus withdrew from his happy musings when he heard someone approaching. It was Albus—looking very distressed.

"Headmaster—"

"No time Severus. We must be going."

Before Severus could respond, Albus clasped his arm surprisingly tight and with a suck of air they disappeared.

* * *

As soon as Severus' feet touched the ground he searched the area for threats. Last time Albus had unexpectedly apparated them it was into the core of a bloody battlefield. However, this place seemed ordinary. It was raining heavily, water dripping off of trees and rooftops.

Severus disliked the perfect suburban neighborhood. What emergency could _possibly _occur in such a dull place? He quickly understood when he read the street sign—Privet Drive, the home of Potter's gracious muggle guardians. Imagine an emergency dealing with Potter. _What _a surprise! The foolish boy probably threw a tantrum for not getting dessert or knowing the boys recklessness, Potter would've invited Bellatrix inside for a spot of tea.

As Albus hurried down the sidewalk, the rain bounced off a water-repellent shield the old wizard had wrapped himself in. Severus obediently followed without questions. He imagined they looked strange in the neighborhood; two fully cloaked men walking in the pouring rain without getting wet.

Short with patience, Albus didn't bother knocking and instead opted to simply wave his wand, opening the door harshly. It swung into the wall with a loud crack. It was foolish making so much noise when there could be death eaters within the home, but Albus looked furious and Severus knew not to bait the lion.

Severus automatically detected a peculiar scent. He was accustomed to the smell after years of Death Eater revels—fresh blood. With wands pointed out they cautiously entered the hallway and peered into the living room.

Severus' eyes narrowed in speculation at the scene.

"Dear Merlin!" Albus gasped. The room was a disaster. It looked as if a herd of centaurs had trampled through. Pieces of pottery and ash were scattered on the floor next to a feather duster. A chair was overturned and spider cracks decorated the opposing wall as if something large had hit it with tremendous force. Most importantly, small splatters of blood stained the white carpet and the length of a forsaken leather belt.

"Call an order meeting. After we investigate the rest of the home, we will meet with them," Albus ordered and then left to inspect the house.

Severus imparted the message to his silvery patronus and watched the doe leap away. The house was eerily silent and he knew without searching that the home was vacant.

He moved throughout the living room, tentatively pushing pottery pieces around with his boot—and the ashes, could they be the remains of a loved one? The most startling artifact was the bloody belt. It was long, indicating it belonged to the Uncle who was known to be robust. Severus peered closer and recoiled at the sight of a small piece of flesh hanging from the buckle.

The evidence pointed to a brawl—no, not a fight because that implies equality. Someone had been forced to their hands and knees and beaten like an animal.

The duster suggested someone had been cleaning—Potter? Ludicrous! A spoiled child assigned chores? _Although_, Severus thought with a sneer, _the Gryffindor_ is_ clumsy enough to do something as foolish as break a family treasure.  
_  
Potter's family adored him. They must, for there was no alternative Severus could perceive. It was as impossible as Hogwarts going dark—no matter what, what siege or attack, the candles remained lit.

Severus hates questions. Where was Potter's face among the numerous family pictures? Vernon and Petunia—damn the insufferable horse—stood looking proudly at their whale of a son in many of the photos. Severus was surprised. He assumed they'd ignore their son in favor of Potter, the famous hero. If he was wrong regarding that, what else…?

Severus buried the thought and moved upstairs. He opened the first door and felt a strange sense of relief. _Here _was the evidence he searched for. It was a large room—filled with games and clothing strewn upon the floor. Potter's room, surely.

_'This is revolting," _he thought, suspiciously eying a moldy plate on the floor. The little slob couldn't even return his dinner to the kitchen! And considering the numerous candy wrappers on the floor it was a miracle Potter wasn't overweight.

"_In fact_," Severus thought with a frown, "_now that I think of it, Potter is almost _under_weight_." Before he could delve further into the issue, Severus left the room with a slam of the door. He was pleased. Minerva never believed his accusations of Potters spoiled life but this was solid verification.

"Severus!" Albus called. Severus hurried downstairs and found Albus kneeling on the floor, staring into the cupboard under the stairs. He was crying. Severus was perplexed; Albus crying? It was bizarre.

Inside the cupboard a bulb swung back and forth shedding light in the small space. He peered at the hundreds of tiny carved lines in the wooden walls; tally marks counting… hours or days perhaps? A childish drawing was taped up consisting of three stick figures, labeled _mom, dad, _and _me_. The figures were smiling and holding hands. Severus leaned in until his nose almost touched the wall, eyes trained on the child figure. There was a small marking above the eyes, half-erased and smudged—a lightning bolt! He jerked back, startled.

The tiny cot had spots of dried blood staining its flimsy sheets. Someone had been there recently. The blood was newly dried and the sheets were freshly rumpled. Surely, surely—this was not Potters room. He would barely fit at his size!

No, this was untrue. _His _room was upstairs filled with the toys of a spoiled child.

Severus stared into the crater and cleared his throat. "Potter was probably sent here as punishment for his atrocious behavior."

Albus sobbed harder, now clutching the bed sheet close to him. "Oh Severus—how blind you are!" Severus disregarded Albus' words—the Boy-Who-Lived was gone and heavily distraught, the headmaster was not in the right mind. It was time to leave.

"Come Albus. The Dursleys and Potter have yet to be found—we must make haste." Severus gently guided him outside, not bothering to pry the bed sheet away from Albus. As they walked the old wizard repeated half-coherent rambles and cries of, "I failed him. We've all failed him."

Severus held a wrinkly hand in his and squeezed it in comfort. Together they disappeared.

* * *

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Albus immediately announced the disappearance of Harry Potter. The Order quickly became frantic; Moody was planning a search party and Molly was at the head of the panic, worried and demanding answers.

"Severus, please tell me it wasn't Death Eaters?"

"I have heard no mention of it."

"What of the muggles? What did they say?" Moody growled, his eye swirling suspiciously.

"They were absent."

"Go back and question them!" Molly ordered. Severus held a glare with the red-head. He was not some _puppet _to be strung around; especially not by _her. _

Tonks, ever the subtle, asked, "What's wrong with Dumbledore?"

They all peered at the headmaster, silent and frozen, staring out the window. For the first time Severus began to understand the Dark Lord's fear of Albus. The wizard was terrifying when he chose to be.

"Albus?" Lupin gently asked. The headmaster spun around quickly and turned heavy eyes upon Molly.

"Retrieve your son and Miss Granger," he ordered. She turned to Severus in surprise. He internally groaned; why did they turn to _him _for answers? He knew no more than they did of Albus' strange behavior.

"The children? Whatever for?"

"Albus seems to think Potter's been… neglected," Severus refused to say the word _abused, _something he had so often termed himself as when he was younger. His lip curled, "as if the muggles would mistreat their little prince—"

"Severus!" she shrieked.

"Molly," Albus interrupted, "Please." She sighed heavily but acquiesced, hurrying upstairs. The room was silent. Moody was the first to break the uneasy atmosphere. "I always sensed something off about that boy."

"There's nothing wrong with Harry!" Lupin was quick to object.

"Calm yourself Lupin! I meant to say—his behavior. Always strange."

"Now that I think of it," Tonks added guiltily, "He's always had the signs. I just… he's Harry Potter for Merlin's sakes!"

"Am I the only one with sense here?" Severus snapped, "The golden boy, abused? It's unthinkable."

Albus turned a stern stare upon him. "Severus, stop this at once. It is you I am sending back to the Dursleys."

"Whatever for?"

"To perform _Ostendo Memoria._"

Severus' eyes widened a fraction and he could feel unease cloud the room. Moody broke the silence with a growl. "Do you think that's wise, Albus?"

"I have no doubt that Severus will perform the spell adequately."

"Headmaster? What exactly is the spell?" Tonks curiously asked.

"It's a spell often used in investigations. The caster will imagine the face of the person they wish to investigate and then perform the spell, allowing them to view numerous memories."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Ah—these memories belong to the house not the person. Everything that has occurred within its' walls, the house remembers."

Tonks nodded and then blinked. "Should Snape to be seeing these memories? He hates Harry."

"Why the Death Eater? Send me- a good Auror can get the job done."

Severus cut in scathingly, "I have fought for Potter's survival for his entire life. I will watch these memories objectively—unlike you fools, who adore the boy so much you'll _find _reasons to pity him."

"That's not true Severus."

"Of course Albus," he snorted, turning angry eyes on the others, "If Potter's being abused it will affect his ability to defeat the Dark Lord. I won't allow it."

The room relaxed and Moody smirked. "Doing good deeds for your own benefit? How Slytherin."

"How else are good deeds done?" he retorted and then asked Albus, "May I take my leave then?"

"Go ahead, my boy."

Severus strode to the fireplace and after shouting, "Arabella Figg's home!" he disappeared into green flames.

* * *

Leaving Arabella's house was nearly impossible. The moment he stepped out of the fireplace the squib appeared in front of him, fluttering in excitement and offering tea and biscuits. Severus reminded himself to tell Albus that Arabella needed some vacation time. If she was happy to see _him, _she must be very lonely indeed.

She was undeterred by his glare, but when he mentioned Harry Potter she relented in her attack and led him to the door. Severus had fought dangerous magical creatures and had faced many horrors in his career as a death eater—but Arabella Figg was unquestionably the most frightening.

As Severus strode away from the house, Arabella called out to him. He turned with a raised eyebrow.

"Save him," she whispered, solemn and pleading. Severus huffed and continued to walk towards that Merlin-awful home. He wondered about the strange message. '_Save Harry Potter? From what?'_ All the pieces of the puzzle were forming together into a picture Severus didn't want to see.

Going to the Dursleys home twice in one day soured his expression. He loathed all of it; the home and the neighborhood. It was common for muggles to cluster together and make privacy impossible but he'd never understand it.

Severus easily entered the home and ventured into the unchanged living room. He lifted his wand… and hesitated. He'd taken this job rashly, determined to prove his loyalty to Moody—to all of them. But he had no desire to view these memories. He wouldn't be able to bear seeing Potters smug face as he welcomed unlimited praise and worship from his muggle family.

Hesitation was uncommon for Severus. He was like a viper; quick and lethal. At least he had some measure of control—he could direct the spell as he chose. Before he could dwell on it any longer, Severus imagined the arrogant face of Harry Potter and hissed, "_Ostendo Memoria."_

The house sighed and rumbled. He watched in interest as the living room changed—furniture moved and disappeared and the scene before him acquired a dim hue. The numbers 1983 floated above him—Potter was three years old and had recently been given to the Dursleys. The house nudged him towards the kitchen. Overwhelmed with curiosity, Severus vowed to view Potters disappearance after this memory. He couldn't argue with the house, now could he?

Petunia was at the stove cooking and humming a cheery tune. Potter wobbled in and stared at his aunt with wide eyes. Glasses absent, they were unusually vivid. Potter approached Petunia and wrapped his tiny arms around her legs, hugging her tightly.

She laughed, a nasally sound, and said, "Hello sweetie."

Potter held on tighter and hid his face into her pants. Petunias eyes remained on the pot as her nephew clung to her.

Severus sneered—this was ridiculous! Did Albus expect him to watch more memories of this sentimental hogwash? Seeing the evidence of Potter's perfect life made Severus hate the boy even more. He continued to watch the scene bitterly, wondering what was so important about _this _memory.

"Dudley, mummy's cooking. Did you need something?"

Potter, under the charade of being his cousin, mumbled into her leg, "I love you." Petunia beamed and twisted around. She said, "I love you—" but quickly broke off. Her face twisted at the sight of hopeful green eyes peering up at her.

Disgusted, she violently shook her leg until Potter was sprawled on the floor.

"How dare you—" she angrily hissed at the tearing toddler. She snatched Potter up by the shirt and dangled him above the stove.

For some inexplicable reason, Severus thought of the muggle story of Hansel and Gretel and the witch who wanted to eat them. This time the roles were reversed—although Severus highly doubted Petunia would devour Potter.

"This will teach you not to touch me, you disgusting freak!" she howled, and then much to Severus' shock, she grabbed Potters tiny hands and pressed them against the burner.

Severus stumbled back. His eyes were locked on the tiny boy—wildly thrashing and his face twisted in pain. "Unbelievable!" Severus gasped, retreating into the living room far away from the sight. Unfortunately, it did no good—he could sill hear the child's pained wails and smell his burning flesh.

The house shook and growled, hurling Severus into another memory.

* * *

Knowledge was power but Severus didn't feel very powerful then.

The house gave him a choice—either view more memories or skip ahead to the one he needed, the memory of the day Potter disappeared. Feeling sick to his stomach, Severus was eager to leave the house and chose the latter.

"Boy!" Vernon shouted.

Severus watched as Potter, tiny and dirty, peeked out of the cupboard and up at his looming uncle. "_The boy is fifteen but barely reaches my chest,"_ Severus thought with astonishment. How had he never noticed the obvious stunted growth?

Potter kept his eyes on the floor and responded flatly, "Yes uncle?" Such respect! Why had Potter never shown him that much respect? _"Ah_," he remembered sardonically, _"Of course. I haven't abused him—ten points to Slytherin." _

"Lazy, forgetful brat. We want breakfast!"

Potter hurried to the kitchen and expertly cooked a large meal for the Dursleys. With such aptitude Severus questioned Potter's failure in his class.

The Dursleys gobbled down their meal as Potter stood in the background, watching them eat with a pained desire. His hands shook as if tempted to snatch the piece of toast from his cousins' grubby hands. Amazingly, he managed to restrain himself.

After they finished Vernon held out a strip of bacon to his scrawny nephew. Potter tentatively reached for the food but millimeters away, Vernon snatched his hand back and stuffed the bacon into his fat lips, laughing. Potter's face was still frozen.

Vernon carried the numerous leftovers to the trashcan and dumped them in, chuckling the entire time. Potter was then ordered to wash the dishes.

Severus watched in embarrassment as Potter glanced around guiltily (_"Guilty!" _Severus' mind roared, _"Of what crime?")_ and then licked the egg drippings and bacon bits off of the Dursleys plates, moaning in pleasure. _How demeaning._

For the rest of the day the muggles doted on Dudley, lavishing him with gifts and compliments. Potter cloaked himself in shadows, expertly dodging hits and accepting all jibes with a stony face. Severus was surprised to see a lack of defiance in Potter. He was strangely pleased that Potter had never treated _him_ with such dead-like obedience. It was unnerving—Severus had seen people in that state after years of torture, after they had lost hope.

"Why is Potter like this?" he questioned aloud. A moment later the horrible truth struck him. _Albus forbade contact. _Completely isolated with these muggles—it must have extinguished the light in Potter so many treasured. _Is it too late?_

Soon, the moment came upon him and he was forced to watch in dread as Potter began to dust the shelves. Dudley sprinted into the room and tackled his cousin, sending Potter and the urn crashing to the floor. Severus was astounded to see Potter accept blame and then the punishment without as much as a flinch. _Is this a usual occurrence?_

The whipping began. 23 hits later (he was counting), Severus noticed something peculiar. Potter was staring intently at something down the hallway. Severus twisted around and peered in the same direction. He inhaled sharply- there was a boy in the cupboard!

A dozen questions bombarded him—did the muggles know of him? _Who_ was the boy? Was he a threat? Before he could fully absorb the situation, black eyes veered towards him. The boy, the ghastly child—he could see Severus!

"Who are you?" Severus demanded, instinctively reaching for his wand. The boy smiled as if amused and softly echoed back, "Who are _you_?" A sudden chill washed over Severus and he felt so _sick._ The floor rushed up to meet him as he descended, wand tumbling from his fingertips.

Darkness embraced Severus as the memory dissipated with a wild howl.

Far away at Hogwarts, every candle flickered and died. The great castle fell into darkness.

* * *

**Okay sorry guys for taking so long. I hope this chapter is satisfactory- although unfortunately, it has no Harry or Simon present scenes. And due to the NUMEROUS reviews begging me to keep the Severus/Harry plotline, I will keep it of course. Have no choice apparently ;)**

**Oh and any questions you have about plot line or what the hell I'm doing... you can ask them but no guarantee I'll answer. Some of its secret so shhhh! I can promise you one thing though: SEVERUS IS NOT going to immediately pity and befriend Harry after viewing his horrible life. I think if he ever did find out, he would be shocked of course, but he would still hate Harry for being arrogant and like his father (which we all know isn't true). Sweet oblivious Severus!**

**So thanks for reading, hope you liked the chapter, and please review? It will make my day! :) thunderspeak  
**


	5. Darkness

Simon Says  
by  
Thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim _any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence, the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend.  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

Minerva believed herself to be an intuitive woman. Nothing happened within the Gryffindor house that she wasn't privy too. There was no mischief in her house (except the Weasley twins, they always got away).

However, when she received word of Harry Potter's disappearance, all her pride vanished with one word: _abused_. How was it possible? She questioned herself. How had she been so ignorant to the home life of one of her little lions, especially Harry Potter's?

She quickly retreated to her office in shame. Minerva sat at her large desk, blinking owlishly at the empty seats stretched out before her. Students would arrive soon and so would Harry Potter—how could she face him? How could she look into his trusting eyes and say _I knew_? The signs had always been there, but who had the time for a child abuse case during war? Certainly not her.

In search for comfort she boiled a pot of water for her tea. As she gingerly held her cup, a great wind filled the room and blew out all the candles. Startled, Minerva fumbled and spilled the scalding water onto her lap. She hissed and hastily mopped it up with a stray paper found on her desk. Freshly dried, she peered down at her temporary towel in horror—it was a student's essay, now dripping with ink. She stared at the parchment and thought, _Dear Merlin, I _am _a horrid professor!_

Her classroom was devoid of light. Trained by years of wartime, she quickly transformed into her animagus form. The superior night vision was indeed helpful.

Minerva was a Gryffindor. As she prowled the dark and cold halls of Hogwarts, she reminded herself of this. _I am brave. _

The castle felt unnaturally cold, as if all the magic had been drained from the ancient stones. The small possibility that this was Voldemort's causing flickered through her, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He was too arrogant to use such subtle tactics—if he was to take Hogwarts, it wouldn't be in darkness. It would involve great light and explosions to attract the eye to his power.

She approached the gargoyles guarding Albus' office and transformed, adjusting her glasses.

"Butterscotch Beatles," Minerva murmured, watching the stony beasts slide away to reveal a narrow opening. She hurried up the spiraling staircase and into his office. It was dark—which she found surprising. She had expected at least this room to be lit, but alas, it was also shrouded in black.

Her heart sank when she tossed glittering powder into the fireplace and nary a flame appeared. The Floo System was inactive—somehow, some_one _had disabled it. This was more serious than she had thought.

Minerva fled to the main hallway, almost tumbling down the stairs in her hysteria. She had no way of travel and leaving the castle was unwise—if this truly was an attack, her enemies could be lurking in the forest. The only option was to make the long trek to the Owlery and send a message via owl post. It would be slow but it was better than nothing.

Minerva strode in that direction for what seemed to be hours until a small glimmer of light caught her eye. She swiveled towards it, frightened and unsure. It was a small ball of light, alone in the vast darkness. Suddenly, it fled to the right, ricocheting off the walls like a furious star. Minerva instinctively tensed and chased after it, like a cat upon a mouse. However, the question remained: who played the role of predator?

* * *

_I am a good friend, _Hermione told herself. She loved Harry like a brother—and in her love, it was her duty to protect him from himself, because sometimes, Harry was too dark. When he hissed in frustration or said something morbid, Hermione reprimanded him. This was not the ideal behavior of the golden-boy and their savior. Of course, she had drawn the parallels of his life to You-Know-Who and it would take extreme caution to prevent the birth of another Dark Lord. Yes, Hermione loved Harry, but she also feared him.

_Harry gets everything, _Ron groused to himself. His best friend got everything Ron wanted—more attention from Hermione, more love from his family, more _everything_. The entire world worshiped him and he had heaps of money that he never used. The bitter part was that Harry didn't even _want _any of the fame or fortune. So, sometimes Ron hated Harry just a little bit. But that didn't make him a bad friend, did it?

* * *

"I want answers," demanded Moody. He stomped his wooden leg causing Hermione and Ron to jump a little in their seats.

"About what?"

"Potter! Where is he?"

"We don't have slightest clue as to where Harry is. Why would we?" Hermione questioned. Moody huffed and made an indecent gesture at the children involving his middle finger. Ron burst into laughter.

"Alastor!" Albus interrupted, "Interrogating the children won't help."

"Just one drop of truth serum…" he implored, looking much too excited for Hermione and Ron's comfort.

"Sir!" Hermione squeaked, desperate to change the topic, "Without knowing the circumstances of Harry's disappearance, we can't help."

Albus felt weary. Should he tell the children of the horrors they had discovered? It would be too much for them to handle—but time was of the essence and Harry _had _to be found. If the knowledge gave them even the _smallest _insight into Harry's location, it would help immensely.

"Do you truly have no idea where he could be?"

"We're not his baby-sitters!" Ron blurted, earning a glare from his mother.

Albus was not happy. He had already done enough damage with Harry—he couldn't taint more children. They should be sheltered and hidden away from this war. Before Albus could make his decision, Moody spoke up.

"Where's Snape?" he asked suspiciously. "It's been more than a few hours."

Eager to leave the situation, Albus said, "I will fetch him. Hopefully, his new knowledge will help us locate Harry."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Molly hastily ushered the children upstairs with threats of chores if they didn't stop interfering with _order business. _

Albus apparated to Privet Drive.

* * *

Severus awoke in a large bed. Everything was unused and old—the paint on the walls and bed frame were peeling away and the sheets were moth-eaten. Tall and narrow windows covered the opposite wall and hundreds of books and yellowed leafs of paper were stacked haphazardly against them, blocking the charmed sunlight. Severus sneezed a few times, cursing the layer of dust that seemed to cover everything.

He immediately recognized the room—it was Regulus's room at Grimmauld Place. The blankets, however worn, were familiar to him. _'I must be safe then,' _he thought to himself,thinking of the ghastly boy he had encountered. Severus wasn't a coward—in fact, he was very brave, but something about that child brought shivers to his skin.

"Have you awoken?"

Severus stiffened and pointed his wand at the intruder. It was only Albus— looking amused but tired as he sat by the bed in a large, ornate chair.

"Obviously," Severus responded. Just moments ago he had been witnessing… Potter. Potter being beaten—and the strange boy. Why had he passed out? He was not ill, but what else could explain the chills and teeth-chattering?

He looked to Albus for answers and probed gently on his mind, revealing his confusion to the Headmaster.

"I don't know Severus," Albus sighed wearily, "After many hours passed, Mad-Eye became worried—"

"Suspicious seems more likely."

Albus chuckled. "Either way, I apparated and found you unconscious. What was the cause?"

"You didn't view my memories of the events?"

Albus shook his head. Solemn and breathless, Severus then spoke of the scenes he witnessed. He described the screaming and the horrid smell of burnt flesh, and then he spoke of the whipping. Severus lapsed into silence—overwhelmed.

"What do you think?" Albus asked softly.

"All of it—it's impossible! It must have been an illusion," scoffed Severus, "And then that boy…"

Albus frowned. "What boy?"

"There was a boy in the cupboard. The muggles couldn't see him but he was certainly there," Severus grimaced, "It was the oddest sensation."

"It was an illusion?"

"Of course! The boy couldn't have been real. It unravels everything—those memories must have been a product of the spell done incorrectly."

"I have no doubt they were real. The spell was done perfectly, Severus."

"Then what caused my reaction?" Severus demanded, "It must have been magical backlash."

"No—no. This boy, what did he look like?"

"Similar to a ghost. Actually, he looked quite similar to Potter—"

"Impossible," Albus breathed, amazement on his face. "Harry must be safe, then."

"Safe?" Severus could feel goose bumps prickle on his skin, "That _creature _looked a menace. If you believe it to be real—"

"Oh, he's real. Not an illusion."

Severus stared at him with a stubborn lip. If that boy was real, then it meant the _memories _were real—and Severus wouldn't stand for it. Potter being abused was impossible.

Albus simply chuckled. "I have my theories about that boy, but I'm afraid we won't know until we find Harry."

"Wonderful," Severus snapped. Albus patted his hand.

Unexpectedly, the door flew open to reveal Hagrid, filling up the entire entrance. Tears the size of rocks rolled down his face and into his beard.

"Headmaster!" he croaked.

"What is it, Hagrid?"

"Hogwarts—she's gone dark!"

If it was even possible, Albus paled even further.

* * *

Minerva soon found herself on the second floor being harassed by moaning Myrtle. The mysterious light had led her to the girl's bathroom, where she discovered large fingers of light creeping into the hallway. She would've entered if it weren't for Myrtle barring the way.

"He thinks he can insult _me_," she wailed, "So heartless!"

"Please, Myrtle. Let me pass."

"But _he's _in there—the cruelest boy ever to exist!"

"Who?" Minerva asked curiously.

"I said, the cruelest boy—"

Minerva impatiently pushed her way past the ghost and approached the bathroom.

It was glowing, the origin of light emanating from the large circular sink in the middle of the room. If she remembered correctly, this was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The thought excited her nerves but she mustered up enough courage to approach the fixture. Unnatural light glimmered in the air, and it felt warm—like magic.

"Professor."

The voice was decidedly not female. Minerva spun around, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. It was a boy, flickering in the magical residue with a crooked smile on his face.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

His face frozen in a strange smile, he said, "My name is Simon. Pleased to meet you."

"Young man, are you a student?"

"No. I've never had patience for education."

"Who _are _you?"

His smile abruptly dropped. "I'm a friend of Harry's."

"Harry Potter?" she gasped.

"Yes."

"Do you know where he is?"

Simon pointed at the sink. _The Chamber of Secrets? How on earth did he get down there? _Minerva eyed it warily. "Let me see him."

"No."

"I'm a professor. Open the entrance!"

"Harry doesn't need you," he said softly, "You're one of _them._"

"Them?"

"One of the people who left him to _rot,_" he growled.

"I… I didn't mean to."

"It's never intentional," Simon said tonelessly, "Don't worry—he'll forgive you."

She whimpered, knowing that forgiveness would only intensify her guilt. "What have you done?"

His eyes dark with the very _opposite _of forgiveness, he whispered, "I've done what you are incapable of doing. I've saved him."

Then, Simon tilted his head curiously, as if listening to something. Minerva strained her ears but all she could hear was silence.

"I must bid you farewell. Harry needs me now," Simon murmured. He bowed in her direction, and then vanished, draining all the light along with him. Minerva was left in the too-cold and too-dark bathroom.

Myrtle immediately flew in, and wailed, "Professor! Isn't he _horrible?"_

_No_, Minerva thought, _he's honest. _

* * *

**Hello guys. Well, here's the chapter. I'm a bit disappointed with it, but whatever. I felt bad for taking so long to update**_._

**IMPORTANT: Yes, Severus is still in denial. But no worries guys... I plan on having reality slap him in the face soon. He's a stubborn man, what can I say? Also, I know some of you will be like "WHY ARE YOU MAKING HERMIONE AND RON JACKASSES?" Don't worry about it. I have good reasons for this. I truly don't think any character can be completely evil, even Voldemort. There's always reasons behind there evil deeds. Hermione and Ron will somewhat redeem themselves.**

**Now, for the big question. You see, I have many roads to take regarding Simon. I honestly love him as a character. Seriously, he talks to me in my boring classes at school. I want to know if you guys want him to stay. He could either be a temporary character or a permanent fixture. Please give me your insight on my little dilemma.**

**Thanks for reading you guys, and super pretty please review. It makes my day and makes me update much faster.  
Cheers! -thunderspeak :)**


	6. Family

Simon Says  
by  
thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim _any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend.  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

That night, Poppy Pomfrey dreamt of war.

_The sun set into the forest as Poppy hurried up the hill, careful not to slip on the moist grass. Finally after much struggle, she reached the top and looked out onto the battlefield._

_Hundreds of bodies were strewn upon the ground, broken, like puppets with their strings clipped. The putrid stench of blood and decaying flesh flooded her nostrils and mouth. There were too many injured and dead—too many people for her to repair._

_She stumbled down the hill towards the bodies._

_Poppy waved her wand, muttering a diagnostic spell on the first mangled student she came across. There was no warmth or magical spark- her wand had failed. Frantic, she hurried along rows of people and wildly waved her wand. But it was too no avail._

_The faces of were all familiar. They wore school robes—yellow, red, blue, even green. But she couldn't help them without her magic.  
_

_'_What was the point of healers training_?' she thought angrily._

_Poppy lost her balance and fell to the ground next to a boy with black hair and green eyes—a beauty in life and death. She struggled to stand but the mud was too thick and the air too heavy. Suddenly, an icy hand seized her fingers, painfully tight._

_It was Harry Potter.  
_

_"You failed Poppy. We're all dead. I'm dead," he said softly, his eyes glazed over with death.  
_

_Poppy jerked away and fell onto her back, dizzily looking at the darkening sky above. Dead children slithered towards her and pawed at her with cold hands, sliding their bloody fingers into her hair—taking vengeance because she had failed them.  
_

_'I couldn't save them," she numbly thought. 'I never could.'_

_Poppy screamed._

Poppy awoke to the sounds of crashing and angry yells. Trembling with the residue of fear from her nightmare, she fumbled with her wand and glasses as she quickly left her bed chamber. Following the commotion, she wondered what could possibly be the cause of such disturbance.

She didn't pause to wonder why none of the torches were lit or why the paintings were empty.

Wielding her wand like a weapon, she approached the girls' bathroom. It was ablaze with light and Minerva stood in the center, huffing like an enraged goddess. The Gryffindor lashed her wand out and snarled a blasting spell. It crashed into its target, a porcelain sink.

Poppy was shocked, and for a moment she thought it safer to silently backtrack out of the bathroom and return to her chambers. However, before she could further plan escape, Minerva caught sight of her.

"Hello Poppy. We have an emergency."

"It must be for such violence! And against a _sink _no less," Poppy cried. Minerva glared at said sink. Poppy expected the fixture to stand and run away, wailing in fear—but it remained inanimate.

"This sink is the entrance to the chamber of secrets."

"Impossible," Poppy scoffed.

"I assure you, this is its location."

"And you want to _enter_?" she asked incredulously, and then fussed, "Time for some bed rest, Minerva. The students are arriving tomorrow and the stress has driven you mad."

She bustled around the Gryffindor and tugged at her robe sleeve, but Minerva locked her legs, determination coloring her face. "No. I have to save him."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter of course."

* * *

Severus laced up his boots with a grim expression. "I will accompany you."

"No, Severus. You will remain with the order, and go to Hogwarts tomorrow as planned."

"I cannot. Do you think me foolish? Hogwarts going dark is a grave sign."

"Do you think me weak?" Albus demanded.

Severus stared at him with stony eyes. "No, I think you're too merciful. This war cannot be brought to an end with sickeningly sweet words."

Albus turned and walked to the doorway, pausing on the threshold. "Goodbye Severus." With a flick of his wand, he spelled the door closed behind him, making it impossible for escape.

As he walked down the narrow hall, he could hear Severus' angry yells.

* * *

Albus stared at the barrier in shock. There was a hole, indicating that _someone had broken into Hogwarts. _The situation was much more serious then he had originally thought. Minerva and Poppy were alone in the castle, and although they were formidable, a magical being with enough strength to pass the Hogwarts barrier was surely the superior wizard.

Albus carefully entered and strode towards the dark castle.

After such an eventful day, Albus wondered if Harry's disappearance and this incident were somehow connected. Surely, Harry wasn't capable of such power, but the mysterious boy Severus spoke of… could he be?

Albus tapped the eastern outer wall with his wand and watched the stones slide away, revealing a direct passage to his office. He sped through the ancient passage, breathing in relief when he entered his office.

Nothing had changed other than the thick darkness. Fawkes was sleeping on his perch, carrying on as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

As he continued to inspect his office for anything unusual, his eyes moved to his desk.

The burnt diary of Tom Riddle lay there, meaning_ someone had removed it from his desk drawer. _On top of the diary was a little object, a green piece of paper folded into an origami crane.

He gently unfolded it to find a message inside.

_Albus Dumbledore,_

_A thousand cranes for a wish, and you wish for—and what do you wish for, Headmaster? World peace through the sacrifice of a young boy? Or his happiness?_

_If you wish to atone for your sins, you will follow my directions. First, you will erase Minerva's knowledge of my existence. Only you, Harry, and Severus Snape will know of me—although you will allow Severus to believe I am a delusion, therefore believing Harry's treatment by those horrid muggles was a delusion. I don't believe that Severus, as stubborn as he is, is quite ready to be faced with the truth. _Albus let a chuckle slip at this. It was most certainly true._  
_

_You will allow me to remain here, wherever I please and as long as I please. I will be discreet and hidden, so you need not worry. You will also tell Harry what he wishes to know, meaning no more secrets. Keeping vital information from him is counterproductive._

_You will also order Severus Snape to mentor Harry in Defense against the Dark Arts, Occlumency, and any other forms of war tactics you find necessary._

_You may not understand many of my requests now but you will soon enough. And remember, Harry is a crane. The crane mates for life and is extremely loyal to its partner. If you meddle in any of Harry's decisions, whether it is in regards to the war or in regards to his personal life, you will regret it._

_Also, I'm sure you've made assumptions as to who I am—rid yourself of these foolish thoughts immediately. You have no idea who I am._

_In return, I promise you I will ensure that the death rate is minimal in this war. Harry will be happy and alive, and I promise you the end of the war in our favor._

_Your ally, Simon_

_P.S. It is not necessary for an unbreakable vow to be made, because as soon as you touched this paper one was etched into your magical core. Cheers!_

Albus dropped the letter, feeling the silver threads of the spell intertwine with his core and pull tight. He was now bound to follow these rules—these simple rules. Albus had never been successfully manipulated before, and he felt a tinge of respect for Simon.

Albus indeed wished to atone for his mistakes. However, parts of the letter made him uneasy. Albus had developed a rather solid theory of what Simon could be and had decided that the boy was a Tomte. A magical protector anchored to the house—a creature born in cases of extreme abuse to protect the abused. If that had been so, Harry would be in safe hands. Apparently, Albus was wrong.

Fear touched him at this realization. What _was _Simon? Could he be dangerous? The tone of the letter didn't indicate any threat, but Albus couldn't know with complete certainty.

Despite his unease, it was comforting to know that this vow guaranteed that Simon would hold up his end of the bargain.

Before he could muse more on the letter, his core shuddered and tugged him towards the door. _Ah, _Albus thought with amusement, _it's time for the first task to be fulfilled. Erasing Minerva's memories of the boy. _Although he wouldn't enjoy it, the less people who knew of Simon the better. It was for the greater good after all.

* * *

_Simon hovered above him, his face black with hatred as he inspected the cuts and bruises etched onto Harry's body. Instead of frightening Harry, the expression settled his nerves. He was _protected, _he was _safe. _Harry closed his eyes and slipped into darkness. _

_Then it was the scent of trees and earth, and goose bumps rising on his skin from the chilly air. They were outside in front of a large glittering dome made of various colors.  
_

_His eyes drifted to a dark figure. It was Simon, walking the length of the barrier and skimming his hands upon its surface— inspecting it, searching for weakness._

_Simon paused and slammed his hands against the dome. It sizzled with energy and an opening appeared, burning gold at the edges. Simon turned to him, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he laughed and laughed._

_Harry sleepily closed his eyes, cradled in the arms of his guardian._

Harry emerged from darkness gasping. He lay prostrate upon cold stone, an eerie green glow lighting the angels of his face. Immediately, he identified a strange sensation, an energy that sped through his veins and sparked off his fingertips. It was the most powerful drug—magic.

He had never felt healthier or more alive. The high ceiling dripped with icicles, and Harry tossed his head back in euphoria and laughed, catching an icy drop on his tongue.

He then inspected his surroundings. It was a familiar place, creating an uneasy ache in his stomach. The Chamber of Secrets—vast and desolate, and laced with the horrible memories of his second year. He shivered from the moist air clinging to his clothing and skin like a second layer.

He gently prodded at his vague memories, and concluded that Simon must have brought him to the underground cavern. But how had Simon breached the seemingly impenetrable barrier of Hogwarts?

Harry experimentally flexed his buzzing fingers and wondered, _'More importantly, how am I healed?' _After such a beating, even with the bustling care of a Mediwizard he wouldn't be completely healed in such a short time. It was impossible.

_His uncle towered over him, grinning maliciously as he lifted the belt and whipped Harry over and over again. He was helpless, he was weak- _Harry flinched at the sudden memory. He rubbed his eyes angrily, trying to scrub away any lingering tears.

"I see that you've awoken. Confused?"

Harry yelped at the sudden appearance of his friend. Simon stood in front of him, looking so amused it should be criminal.

"Confused is an understatement," bit Harry, "How did we get here?"

"I apparated to the barrier and carried you in."

Harry scoffed. "That's ridiculous. You can't just _enter _Hogwarts."

"_Obviously _it can be done. We meant no harm so the castle let us in."

"You speak as if it's some sort of sentient being."

Simons' eyes narrowed. "I'd be respectful Harry. It's due to Hogwarts that you're healed."

"I-I don't understand."

"Magic. I borrowed the castles magic and fed it into you. You can expect to be a little…" Simon wiggled his eyebrows, smiling, "_explosive_ for a week or so."

Harry stared at him, uneasy with the sudden change of personality. It could be the fresh air opposed to the dusty cupboard air, but all the same, Simon's behavior was unexpected. He was so accustomed to the blunt, if not cruel honesty from his friend. Not this... _playfulness._

"I think its time for you to explain who or _what _you are," Harry said quietly.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course! For all I know, you could be Voldemort's son!"

Simon burst out laughing. "Really, that's what you came up with?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't plan to negotiate. He had waited long enough and wanted answers, now. Seeing the stubborn expression, Simon sighed, "Harry… I'm here to protect you."

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

"Protecting you includes that my… _origin_ so to speak, remains a secret."

"Bloody Hell," Harry hissed, "No one tells me anything!"

Simon reached out a hand in comfort, but Harry jerked away. "You don't get to touch me when I'm angry!"

"This is bigger than you. Telling you could ruin everything!"

"Why do you think I'm going to ruin it? Everyone keeps secrets from me. Hermione and Ron keep so much from me-their relationship, Ron's _stupid _jealousy… and Dumbledore _never _told me about Sirius or Peter or anything!" Harry cried, his voice breaking. He then turned pleading eyes on Simon. "Don't do this to me too."

"Merlin Harry," Simon breathed in frustration, "Stop acting like a child."

"I'm not a child!" shouted Harry, his hair spiked with white-hot energy. He watched Simon carefully back away from him through a misty haze of tears. In anger, Harry lifted his hands and _pushed, _feeling the magic lash forward like a viper.

Simon crashed to the stone, his head smacking the floor with a sickening crack. Too surprised and dizzy to respond, he lay there for a moment, giving Harry the advantage.

Harry pinned him to the floor by straddling his waist and growled, "Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me!"

"_Harry… _is this who you want to be?_"_

Breathing heavily, Harry leaned close and stared deeply into Simons' eyes.

His face was reflected in the black pools—wild looking and evil, with a cruel sneer on his face. He didn't want to be this—this _monster, _demanding what wasn't his. Simon was his friend.

Harry abruptly began to cry. He collapsed onto Simon's chest and pushed his face into the crook of Simon's neck, sobbing heavily. "Please, I just need to know."

Simon stared at the ceiling as if searching for an answer. He was caught at the cross roads, and troubled, he bit his lip. As he mused over his decision he soothingly began to rub Harry's back while the boy cried.

"You've had a difficult day," Simon murmured. Harry mumbled a wet agreement and clung tighter to him. _Hell, _Simon thought bitterly, _his tears have always been my downfall. _

"Harry, what I'm about to tell you _must _remain a secret. It's crucial that you tell no one."

Harry pulled back, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed. He nodded and whispered, "I promise."

"I can't believe I'm doing this…" Simon sighed. He stared intently into Harry's eyes—sweet Harry, who trustingly stared back at him. _I'll miss that complete trust, _Simon thought woefully, _because after this little admission…_

Simon then softly spoke four little words, words that were so, so heavy—that would change _everything. _

"Harry… I'm your brother."

* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**First, I bet none of you saw that coming! *cackles evilly* No worries, explanations will arrive in continuing chapters. It's all actually very complicated so don't make any assumptions just yet.  
**

**Anyways, I'm sorry for the long wait for such a short chapter. AP exams, and got my wisdom teeth out. Fun right?**

**So hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review. Much thanks!**


	7. Time

Simon Says  
by  
Thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim _any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence, the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend.  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

Albus dismissed Poppy, using the excuse of a shortage of healing potions. After she was gone he lingered in the bathroom, listening as Minerva spoke in hushed worry of the boy she had earlier met. She planned to enter the Chamber and rescue Harry. It was an admirable cause, but Albus felt her motivation was flawed—he detected guilt in her voice. She was attempting to redeem herself in Harry's eyes, and he could sympathize.

Albus was reluctant to do it but his options were limited. Even now, the vow hummed within his core, urging him to lift his wand and erase her memories of the night, of Simon.

When she turned from him, he woefully did so. Slowly, her body slackened in confusion and her eyes glazed over.

"What am I doing here?" she slurred.

He guided her into the corridor. "You've had a stressful day, my dear. It seems you drank just a tad too much Firewhiskey."

She dumbly nodded and followed Albus to her bed chambers, where she immediately collapsed onto her bed and began to snore. As Albus left her rooms, he was startled by the tip of a wand pointed directly at his nose, forcing him to cross his eyes.

"How _dare _you Albus," Severus growled, his face flushed in anger.

"I had no choice."

"There are always choices!"

Albus thought of the vow he had been subjected too. "Not always," he sighed as they walked along the corridor, side-by-side.

"I should have been with you in the case of an emergency. You may be powerful, but you are not invincible."

"I am aware of my mortality, Severus," he said, then asked curiously, "How did you manage to get here?" Severus flushed even further and spoke resentfully.

"Alastor released me."

Albus barely concealed his amusement. The Auror frequently taunted and teased Severus but was actually quite fond of the slytherin. Despite their complaints they both enjoyed their sparring more than they let on.

Soon they entered the glowing bathroom. Goosebumps prickled on Severus' skin and the magic in the air lifted his hair as if he were submerged in water.

"What is this?"

"The magic of the castle." Albus sat on the tile floor and leaned against the wall, shifting to get comfortable. They would be here for a long time.

Severus stared at the floor in disdain. "Why are we here?"

"Harry is in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Again?"

"Amazing, isn't it? We will simply wait for his return."

"How did the fool manage to enter Hogwarts?"

Albus thought of Simon's instructions: allow Severus to continue believing his existence was a delusion, therefore believing that the horrifying memories of Harry's abuse were also false. As he considered telling the truth, the vow rattled in his chest. He winced and thought, _Bollocks, it seems I have to lie. _

"I haven't the faintest idea. I'm sure with his intelligence he found a way."

"More like his disgusting ability to achieve the impossible."

Albus laughed. "That too."

Severus sat next to him, and together, they waited.

* * *

It was no surprise that Harry had always wanted a family but he also sometimes fantasized of having a brother or sister—a confidant, a partner in crime, a best friend. Living with the Dursleys would have been so much _easier _with just one person by his side. But fantasies are fantasies and this _couldn't _be true.

Harry remained still as he let the shocking words settle. He thought it bizarre that he didn't struggle, shout, or burst into tears, but he was too damn tired. After much silence, Harry extracted himself from Simon's arms and stared, disbelieving. This had to be impossible because he _had _no family other than the Dursleys, no one to call his own.

Simon repeated his words. "I'm your brother."

"Dumbledore would've told me about you," Harry said lowly, feeling a twinge of doubt. _Would_ he? Dumbledore wasn't known for being forthcoming with information. He would've kept it from Harry for his _own good. _

Simon shook his head, dispelling Harry's negative thoughts. "He doesn't know. I mean… I'm not even sure because I'm Harry Potter's brother, but am I _your _brother?" Simon wondered.

"I'm Harry!"

"You are. But isn't it possible there's _another _Harry somewhere else?" Simon pushed, searching for comprehension on his face.

Harry slid backwards across the floor until his shoulders touched the wall, needing the space, needing the cold air to wake him. This declaration was too much of a shock after such a long day. Even with the magic from Hogwarts coursing through his veins, he felt exhausted.

He clenched his fists, anger churning on his face and hissed, "I don't have a family so stop mocking me."

"I'm not mocking you. My full name is Simon Benjamin Potter. My mother was Lily Potter and my father was James—"

"Don't say their names! You can't be—you can't be my brother…" Harry wheezed. He wouldn't allow himself to believe this _dream_, because he hated good dreams, and all good dreams end-

Simon abruptly stood and placed his hands on his hips, radiating impatience.

"Look at the signs. I resemble you—"

"No," Harry objected while knowing it was a lie. They did look uncannily alike, although Simon looked… _deader. _

"You know it's true. Haven't you ever wondered how I know you so well?"

"That's hardly an argument. You could be a stalker."

Simon choked a laugh. "You _do_ have an imagination. But no, I'm not a stalker. I _am _your brother."

"You're messing with me."

"Bloody—fine, just shut up and let me fully explain."

"Don't tell me to be quiet!"

"Listen or—"

"Or you'll force me? Your own brother?" Harry spat, "Why don't you just _imperio _me while you can."

Simon's eyes lit. "Ah, so you'll be my brother only when it benefits you. Very manipulative- very slytherin."

"I'm a Gryffindor."

"Maybe, maybe not. I, on the other hand, _am _a Slytherin—"

"You never went to Hogwarts!"

"Of course I did. I prowled these halls by your side as we wrought havoc and fooled our so-called superiors."

Harry was shaking. "I can't believe you. It's too far-fetched." _I don't want to believe it. Of all people to be my brother, why _you_?_

"I've stood by your side," Simon paused thoughtfully, "Well _crouched_ by your side all summer. You can trust me."

"We're just friends, not bro—"

"I'm your only friend."

"I have Hermione and Ron," Harry weakly countered. He had nearly forgotten them over the summer. He had been busy—with Simon, with the Dursleys, with the nightmares he awoke from nightly.

Simon skeptically rose an eyebrow and said, "Look, I'll make it simple. I can take Veritaserum."

"Where are you getting it?"

"Snape's classroom. He's bound to have it."

Harry tried to remain stoic but soon his lips twitched and he smiled. "Well, I can't pass up the chance to steal something from the greasy git."

"You?" Simon snorted, "_You're_ not doing anything."

"What? No, I'm coming-" before Harry could finish speaking, Simon had vanished from where he stood. Harry stared at the empty space, half-annoyed and half-curious. Could Simon apparate within Hogwarts?

* * *

"Have you determined why Hogwarts has gone dark?"

Albus hummed thoughtfully. There was only one possibility he could imagine—"I believe Hogwarts has loaned Harry its magic."

"But _why?" _

"To heal him."

Severus stiffened, panic chewing at him for some unidentifiable reason. "You still believe those muggles abused him? I told you it was a delusion."

"Either way, Harry was injured _somehow. _Their living room attested to it."

"Perhaps," Severus huffed, "Though Hogwarts doesn't simply lend its magic for entertainment."

"Hogwarts likes Harry."

"Of course. The Boy-Who-Lived is best mates with an ancient, powerful castle!"

"Don't fret Severus. It likes many people. That's how I'm able to apparate within its walls."

"Anyone else Hogwarts likes?" suspicion filled him, "Merlin forbid, is it one of the Weasleys?" It would explain his breached wards and missing shampoo, replaced with some garish muggle brand.

"It enjoys the company of Miss Lovegood."

"The Ravenclaw girl?"

"She does have a name, Severus."

"Useless information," he dismissed, "How does Hogwarts _like _her?"

"The walls and stairs talk to her. I can only imagine what fascinating conversations they must have."

Severus chose not to reply. They sat in companionable silence until Severus finally spoke. "Honestly Albus, you've gone senile with age."

"It's not age," Albus laughed, "I've always been this way."

* * *

When Simon apparated into the chamber he nearly slipped and cracked his head open on the stone floor. He had always been the clumsy one in the family whereas Harry reaped all the athletic genes. He fondly remembered cheering in the stands as his brother zoomed after the snitch.

He found Harry lying prostrate on the ground, completely still. Unwanted images of battlefields and tattered bodies reared their ugly heads, and his frozen heart jumped.

"Harry?" he choked.

"I'm dying of boredom," Harry mumbled into the floor.

Simon frowned, annoyed at himself for feeling unnecessarily worried. Harry was capable of taking care of himself. He held up the small vial. "Right. Well, I have the potion."

"You ready?"

Simon nodded and sat on the floor cross-legged so they faced each other. "I have to take two drops."

"How do I know that's it? It could be water."

"You'll just have to trust me," Simon murmured, "Now remember to ask the right questions."

"Don't worry, I will. Now take the bloody potion."

Simon glared at him but took a deep breath and slipped two drops onto his tongue, hands trembling. As the potion took affect he slumped forward and his eyes glazed over. It was almost comical to see Simon, so proud and arrogant, to be in such a state of vulnerability. Harry felt a little sick.

"Simon?" he asked softly. His friend remained silent.

Harry worried his lip as he thought of the possibilities—the many questions he _could _ask. Having Simon at his mercy filled him with a bizarre sense of power.

"What is your name?"

"Simon Benjamin Potter," was the flat reply.

Harry jerked back in shock. He hadn't prepared himself for that answer. _Simon must have the same last name. Coincidentally, _he tried to rationalize. "Are you my brother?"

"I am Harry Potter's identical twin."

He clenched his fists, furious and disbelieving. If it was true… then where had Simon been all these years? Where had he been when Harry was bitten by a basilisk? Or when he was tortured in the graveyard? He stood and began to angrily pace.

Although they looked similar enough to be brothers, they clearly weren't identical. _Why did Simon say he's Harry Potter's twin?_ he questioned, thinking the more appropriate response would have been _I am _your_ brother. _

"We're identical twins?" he clarified.

"Yes."

"Then why do we look different?"

"I wasn't abused as a child, therefore my growth process wasn't hindered—"

"Of course!" Harry threw his hands up, "I could've been tall and muscular if I hadn't lived with the Dursleys. Bloody fantastic. But no, I'm just this tiny, weak, ugly little _freak—"_

"Plus, I was hit by the killing curse."

Harry froze, his lips parting in surprise. "You were?"

"Yes."

"When was this?" he shouted in disbelief. It would have been common courtesy for Simon to have told him this tidbit of information _sometime _during the summer, but alas, it was news to Harry.

"The first day I met you."

Harry remembered. Simon appeared in the cupboard, coughing heavily before passing out on the cot.

"How-how did it happen?" he asked softly. He felt a new connection with Simon—they had both survived the killing curse, making them anomalies, outsiders, two people hovering on the edge of the world.

"I was in battle when Lucius Malfoy shot the curse towards me. I wasn't fast enough in my departure and it struck me."

"But… _how _did you survive?"

"I performed _Vicis Varietas_. While half in this world and half in my world, it hit me. Therefore, I am half dead."

Harry stopped pacing and stared at him. _What? _This sounded like one of the science-fiction movies the Dursleys watched.

"What did the spell do?"

"It allows the traveling between worlds."

Harry fell to his knees, crawling closer to Simon until their noses nearly touched. "Are you talking about a parallel universe?"

"Yes."

He sat back, reeling. "Dear Merlin." He tried to remember the limited knowledge he had of parallel universes and only drew forth one important question.

"What was the difference?"

"Lily Potter had two sons. From then on, the universe branched apart from this one."

Harry swallowed, his eyes watering. "Did they… did they still die?"

"Yes," Simon said without emotion, his voice echoing throughout the large room.

Harry pulled back. He had a thousand questions but not nearly enough time to ask them all. In another world he had a brother—his eyes suddenly widened. That meant there was another Harry Potter, another version of him.

"What happened after they died?" he continued.

"We were dropped off at the Dursleys. They raised us and then we attended Hogwarts together—"

"I thought you said you weren't abused. Don't tell me they developed _compassion _for us?"

"No. They hated both of us, but they were more afraid of two wizards than one. Plus, together we were able to develop our magic sooner and acquire food for ourselves."

Harry was beginning to resent this other world where everything seemed to be better. His other version was a lucky git.

"Am I different from the other Harry Potter?"

"In some ways. You are insecure and more temperamental. But you are also purer—you are more Gryffindor."

"Wasn't he in Gryffindor?"

"No. He was in Slytherin."

Harry remembered what the sorting hat had said to him first year- "_"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that..._"

"Was he evil?" Harry asked, his voice small.

"You could never be evil no matter what world you reside in. Although you two have differences, to the core you are the same."

Harry was relieved to know that his counterpart wasn't evil, although it was distressing to know that the _other _Harry had family all these years, whereas in this world he had been denied that privilege. He envied his counterpart.

Guilt stung at him. Harry wouldn't have ever considered leaving Simon with the Dursleys if he had known. It was abandonment of the worst kind. On second thought though… Harry thought of Simon's harsh words and barely tolerable company. He leaned forward, hungry for some type of revenge.

"If we're brothers, do you love me?" he asked mockingly.

"Yes."

Harry stilled. He hadn't expected Simon to answer _yes, _although the declaration filled him with warmth. No one had ever loved him for himself, only for the jagged scar on his forehead_. _But along with the happiness was a sting because Harry didn't _want _Simon to be his brother.

After much reflection over the summer Harry had realized he was gay. The epiphany had opened his eyes and he found himself watching Simon and thinking of him in a highly inappropriate manner. Harry had even thought himself in love. But they were brothers, _twins- _

More memories assaulted him, this time of the casual brush of fingers, crooked smiles, and the companionship they had shared. Harry remembered frequently awaking to a strong arm clasped around his waist, feeling _safe _and _worthy._

He loved Simon, wanted to _touch _him—which was a miracle in itself—but Simon was his brother. His heart collapsed at the thought. Harry wanted someone to trust, to share himself in the most intimate way possible. And dammit, they couldn't be brothers because Harry wanted to furiously kiss him.

"How long until you're back to normal?"

"Approximately ten minutes."

He took ragged gulps of air and thought, _I'm bloody crying again, _but couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed.

Then he was stumbling through the pipes away from Simon, unable to look at his face because all he could see were his own features reflected back.

He arrived to the stone exit and hissed _Open_. It slowly slid apart, light flooding in, and Harry wiggled through the small gap before collapsing on the tile floor. He bean to sob and claw at the tiles as if he could dig himself a grave to fall into.

"Harry?"

It was Dumbledore with pity on his face.

"Get away from me!" Harry snarled, sparks of magic bursting off his fingertips. He felt _powerful. _

Snape loomed in front of him and threatened, "Potter, cease this foolishness of I will _force _you too."

"Go ahead!"

He didn't want to see their faces. He hated Snape's hateful sneer and Dumbledore's sympathy because they didn't _know_ and could never fully comprehend what they had _done _to him, how they had failed him.

"You rotten, spoiled, _boy—"_

Harry hated being called boy. The first couple of years with the Dursleys he didn't know his name, didn't have one, because he was just a _freak _and they didn't deserve names_. _

The windows began to rattle and the room spiked in temperature, becoming too hot for comfort. He trembled with magic, and above the roar he distantly heard Dumbledore's voice pleading with him to _control himself. _

_'Why don't you control me? Like you always have—because I mean _nothing _to you!' _

The windows shattered, the porcelain sinks exploded, and Harry heard terrible screams before everything went white.

* * *

* * *

quote from Harry Potter and the Sorcerers/Philosophers Stone by J.K. Rowling.  
_Vicis Varietas _is Latin for 'Time Diverges'

**Hello Readers.**

Note One: I know some people dislike parallel universe fictions. Well too bad. I can promise you that this is not like the many parallel universe fictions.  
Note Two: I also know that some people will be uncomfortable with Harry's strange "crush" on Simon. Look at it this way: abandoned with the Dursleys, he latches onto the first person to give him any form of affection. He comes to the realization that he is gay and displays his feelings towards the first viable male he finds. This will not be incest (look at the pairing in the summary guys!) There will be drama though. DRAMA I SAY.

Also, I thank all of you so much for so many alerts/favorite/reviews. I do appreciate them. And when I put off writing for Glee, your reviews prod me along. I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it was a bitch to write (dialogue is evil). Please continue to review and such!

much love, thunderspeak :)


	8. Death

Simon Says  
by  
Thunderspeak

Disclaimer: I do not _claim _any of J.K Rowling's wonderful work. Hence, the dis_claim_er.

Summary: During the summer after his fourth year, Harry learns about the darkness within himself, discovers the power the Dark Lord knows not, and makes a new friend.  
Eventual Slash

AN: Review please?

* * *

Harry slowly came to, his body aching. It felt like all of the energy from earlier had been drained from him, leaving a hollow shell. He could hardly move his limbs without strenuous effort.

Harry groaned when he realized that he was in the hospital wing _again_. He was sick and tired of the disgusting healing potions. He murmured a thanks to the Dursleys for never taking him to the doctors. He'd heard that muggle doctor visits were actually _worse, _if that was even possible.

"Ah, I see you're awake Mr. Potter," Pomfrey chirped out of nowhere. He groaned in agreement and kept still as she ran some diagnostic spells. Afterwards, she frowned.

"You have no present physical damage but your magical level is extremely low. And…" she paused, guilt written on her face, "I'd like to run more tests to explore these old injuries."

"Old?" he weakly asked, filled with dread. He already knew what injuries she spoke up (a particularly bad beating from Dudley and his friends rose to mind, where they broke all the fingers of his right hand. It still caused him problems today, evidence being his horrible writing), but he still hoped it was something as simple as a scab scar. That he could blame on quidditch.

She interrupted his thoughts, thoroughly dashing his hopes. "Badly healed bones and signs of starvation."

Harry had no reply. Based on her reaction it seemed she had been expecting these results. After his disappearance from the Dursleys, it was an inevitability that his secret would be discovered.

But it was still jarring. Not wanting to see the pity on her face, Harry turned over and buried his face into the pillow.

He heard her sigh and move away from his bed.

"I am so sorry," she murmured before leaving the room. He risked a peek and sighed, happy with the solitude. However, before he could completely relax Harry caught sight of a very unwelcome figure occupying the bed next to him.

It was a sleeping Snape. It was silly, but Harry had always entertained the thought that Snape never slept and busied his nights stalking the halls and torturing stray hufflepuffs. To see him doing something so human was jarring.

Harry's gaze traveled downward and halted. A jagged red scar curled from the left side of his neck and ran diagonally across his chest, where it disappeared beneath his collar. Harry wondered how far down it traveled, if it traversed the planes of his chest—or Merlin forbid, if it reached his leg.

Harry remembered the screams he heard before passing out. Burning shame pooled in his stomach, and he wondered, _did I do that? _

He struggled to fall asleep, unable to get the image of that scar out of his mind. He felt a strange kinship with Snape and hoped the slytherin's scar wouldn't burn as his did.

Although he hated Snape, he knew that once they both woke up an apology was due.

* * *

"_Just a bit further!" Harry urged his brother. They crouched in anticipation, hungrily peering through the air vent at the floating food. Perspiration beaded on Simon's forehead as he kept the food afloat._

_Finally, the apples and loafs of bread reached the tiny door and hovered just out of reach._

_Harry pressed his hand against the door and thought of the aching emptiness he had felt for days. He thought of his brother, frail and tiny with starvation. Righteous anger and desperation swelled within him like a wave. _

_The outside latch slid apart with a loud snap and the cupboard door swung open. Harry snatched the food from the air and beamed proudly at his brother. Simon had collapsed onto the cot and was breathing shallowly, but he returned the smile._

_"We did it."_

_They had a fine dinner that night. They didn't understand their power, but did understand that together they were strong. Together, they survived._

* * *

"_Slytherin!" the hat bellowed across the Great Hall. Simon hopped off the stool and Harry sent his brother a relieved smile from his seat. They were together—and the Slytherin house wouldn't know what hit them._

_Unbeknownst to them a certain professor sat at the head table, astonished fury coloring his face._

* * *

_"Join me," Tom hissed, an enticing smile carved onto his face. "You are a Slytherin and a parselmouth… is it not destiny?"_

_"I don't believe in destiny."_

_"But you must! We will be great together."_

_Time was short. Simon had collapsed onto the stone next to him, still conscious but weakened from the diary, and Harry was bleeding, his arm oozing with the poison from the basilisk fang. Despite the death of his precious pet, Tom did not display fury—instead, his eyes gleamed and he offered a partnership (more like servitude) to Harry. To join Lord Voldemort in his reign of terror—as if!_

_Harry grabbed the fang and drove it deep into the journal. Tom screamed, his soul tearing itself apart._

* * *

_"I can't believe that man," Harry hissed, clutching the wanted parchment close, " He's a monster!"_

_Simon bumped shoulders with him. "Technically, my godfather's the monster."_

_Harry snorted. "Lupin is the gentlest man I know."_

_"I don't think so. I saw some pretty vicious bruises on Tonk's neck—"_

_"Mental images!" Harry laughed, clutching his head as if to shake the pictures out. He cupped a handful of snow and lobbed it at his brother. The dust of white powdering Simon's hair was utterly comical and Harry fell to the ground, laughing. Simon was unamused—this was war._

* * *

_"My godson is a Slytherin," Sirius said flatly. Next to him, Harry shifted uneasily and nibbled at his lip. His godfather watched him, conflicted, as if searching for something familiar on his face. He must have found it for he relaxed and hugged the boy close. Harry felt ribs prodding into his own and could smell the stink of the tattered prison clothes—but it didn't matter._

_"Well, can't say it was a complete shock. You know, Lily was almost sorted into Slytherin."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah, crazy isn't it? James nearly had a coronary at the news."_

_Harry frowned. "If he was alive…"_

_"Don't even think of it. James would have loved you—both of you, no matter what."_

* * *

_Simon threw Draco roughly into the classroom and pressed him against the desk._

_"Don't ever say_ that word_again," he growled._

_Despite his height, Draco was shaking in fear. "Yes, I promise."_

_Simon stared into his eyes and nodded, pulling back. "Good. If you do, consider our friendship ended. I won't allow intolerance from you—you're better than that."_

_"My father—"_

_"He's an idiot."_

With that, Simon strolled out of the classroom, ignorant to the silver eyes following his exit.

* * *

_Someone threw Simon into the broom closet and pushed him up against the wall. It was Draco—looking angry, his eyes blazing with something unidentifiable._

_"How _dare_ you—"_

_"Do what?"_

_"Get inside my head. Destroy—destroy everything!" Draco hissed, his hot breath on Simon's face. Then he forcefully pressed his lips against Simon's, teeth clashing._

_Simon had not been expecting that. Even more, he never thought he'd return the kiss, or moan into it like a wanton whore._

_In the next months, friendly touches turned into the drag of fingernails across skin as they tumbled into broom closets and classrooms, any empty space they could find that would grant them just a few moments alone._

_Simon was… happy? No, he was beyond happy; he was bursting with an emotion he'd never felt before._

_With his happiness came an urge to give. It was Harry's turn. His brother also deserved someone and Simon had the perfect person in mind._

* * *

_During class Simon saw it—the possibilities. Harry and Severus fit perfectly. Simon planned to jam the damaged, jagged puzzle pieces together. It would be messy and it would take some tweaking, but in the end, they would thank him. _

_It began with the training sessions. Harry was so blatantly _not_ what Severus had expected him to be that the potions professor had no choice but to think differently of him. And as Harry improved in battle, Severus allowed just a shred of respect. Moreover, while Severus gave a little, Harry gave back. He'd never been able to distinguish between his potions professor and the Dursleys but once Severus proved that he wasn't entirely cruel, Harry allowed a little leeway, a little trust._

_They respected each other and over time they built a friendship, albeit a rocky one, but a friendship nonetheless. They still fought, oh yes they fought, but it no longer held the raw animosity it once did. _

_Severus watched Harry, his eyes filled with confusion and a bewildered affection, as if he never expected himself capable of it. His taunts lost their fervor and his hand lingered too long when he helped Harry up from nasty falls during training._

_In return, Harry slowly allowed someone into his stony fortress. _

_Simon smiled. They would be together—very soon._

* * *

_"I don't need him."_

_Simon stared at his brother in disbelief. This was all wrong—Harry was under the misunderstanding that he could only have one or the other, Severus or Simon, like he expected the universe to snatch Simon from him if he chose Severus. He was unaware that he didn't have to choose, that he could have them both._

_"No matter what I'm still your brother! Take him, you need him," Simon urged._

_"I only need you."_

_His voice was flat and his eyes half-lidded. This was bad—Harry had already withdrawn into a hard shell of protection. Something must have happened… it seemed after Harry got too close, got too comfortable, he pulled away from Severus. It was a fear of trust, commitment, and love. Almost everyone Harry had loved had left him or had died, so it was only understandable that he was afraid._

_Harry was making the choice to return to Simon—the cocoon of safety._

* * *

_Simon and Harry exchanged glances and then grasped the cup's handle in the same way they did everything- together. They whirled into the graveyard, into the realm of the enemy._

_..._

_Simon shook his brother frantically, but Harry was lost in a fog of pain that only _one man _could cause. His scar burned red, and Simon held his brother close as he watched in dread as the monster rose from the mist._

_..._

_His wand was ripped from his hand, and Simon whirled around to face the thief but paused in shock—it was Draco, looking utterly out of place in a death eater robe. Simon glanced around, seeing that the other death eaters were preoccupied as they watched the connected spell between Harry and Voldemort. _

_Draco grabbed his chin and pleaded, "Just go Simon!"_

_"What are you doing here?"_

_"I spoke with Dumbledore. He said it was for the—"_

_"Greater good," Simon finished. Dumbledore was using Draco by training him to be Severus' successor. He wouldn't allow it._

_For now though he pulled Draco behind a tombstone, knowing the slytherin was taking a huge risk simply speaking to him. "I cannot leave," he softly said, touching the blonde's cheek tenderly._

_"Harry will be fine. Severus is coming—" Draco cut off mid sentence, his eyes widening as he looked past Simon's shoulder. Before Simon could react, Draco tackled him to the grass, a green light bathing him. _

_He slid from beneath Draco and looked down into glassy eyes. Dead eyes, dead Draco. _

_Everything froze in Simon—his heart, his lungs—who dared to take Draco away from him? Simon felt a chasm tearing apart inside of him, thirsting for revenge._

_"Potter!"_

_Simon whirled around snarling. Lucius Malfoy glared at him with hate-he had killed Draco, his own son!  
_

_"Aveda Kedavra!" the man yelled. This time Draco wasn't there to push him to the ground, to die for him. In a split second Simon remembered their research together, their search for escape plans._

_"Vicis Varietas!" he shouted, hoping it would work without his wand. It did, but he wasn't fast enough._

_Still in the process of traveling the killing curse struck him. He screamed in pain, his nerve endings tingling and the green light ripping his insides apart. He thought of Harry and Draco—the two most important people in his life._

_Then, Simon was in a tiny cupboard all too familiar with his brother (no, this one was too small) staring at him in bewilderment._

* * *

Simon awoke shuddering. The serum still lingered in his system, leaving him in a drunken like state and it took him a few minutes to realize that he was alone in the chamber—meaning that Harry had left him, likely distressed.

Simon had a purpose in this world. He would fix his mistakes and fix this Harry, who had been damaged in ways the other Harry was not. To win the war his healing was a requirement. Plus, Severus and Harry _would _be together no matter what it took. He only hoped once he left the other world, Harry had sought Severus for comfort and had realized that they were meant to be together.

And here—he swallowed—here, he would save Draco. He would kill Lucius Malfoy before the man had the chance to kill either of them.

_Everything_ would go right in this world.

Now it was time to confront Albus with his plans, and hopefully Harry wouldn't be angry with him for too long.

Simon closed his eyes and called upon Hogwarts, feeling the warm magic run its fingers through his hair. Oh, how he had missed the castle. Politely, he whispered, "Thank you for your help. If you would, please give us light."

The warm air departed with a kiss on his cheek and then the torches lit up, burning softly in the chamber. He smiled in gratitude and wished for luck before pushing through the stone door that led directly to Albus' office.

The office was as he remembered it. It overflowed with gleaming trinkets (most of them useless) and Fawkes stared at him with annoyance from his wooden perch. The bloody bird had never liked him, instead showing favoritism towards Harry.

Albus was folding and unfolding the black crane, deep in thought. It seemed his message had left a lasting imprint.

"Hello Albus."

The old wizard looked up in surprise, but his blue eyes quickly turned calculating. He gestured for Simon to take a seat but the younger boy ignored the offer.

"I have a few more requests," Simon said, buffing his nails against his shirt. He was an expert at negotiation, especially with people like Albus who believed they were better. The trick was to bring them down to size.

"What _else_ can I do for you?"

Simons' eyebrows rose incredulously at the bitter tone. _He has the audacity to be angry? _

"You have a lot to make up your failures," Simon replied, placing his hands on the desk. He made sure to curve his nails into the wood to leave crescent indents; little reminders of his strength.

"You are correct." Albus tilted backwards away from the threatening gesture, keeping his features carefully blank, but Simon saw past the facade and grinned viciously.

"Then do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, yes of course we do. What do you require?"

"A position," Simon smirked.

"As a student?"

"No, I'm quite tired of school. An an apprentice for Filch. Everyone will think I'm a squib." _Oh, _this would be fun. This Draco would believe him to be the scum of the earth. His Draco had been much less prejudiced, but that was due to four years of Harry and Simon's influence upon him. Here it would be deliciously challenging.

"Why?"

"Our enemies will underestimate me. Plus, I need to be close to Harry at all times."

"That will be helpful… What must I do?"

"Convince Filch, for one. And then announce me at the welcoming dinner tomorrow night."

"Seems simple enough," Albus murmured, "but there's more to your plans, aren't there?"

"You don't need to know," Simon smiled.

"This isn't in the vow!"

"Not, it is not," Simon sighed, "I don't like manipulating you but I know it's the only method that will work."

"A simple 'please' would work."

Simon laughed. They both knew that was a lie. Albus broke eye contact and rifled through his drawer.

"Lemon drop?" he offered. Simon took it and slipped it into his pocket. He wouldn't dare eating it-years ago it was revealed that the candies had a calming potion in them. Merlin knows what other potions Albus would have them injected with.

He let Albus mull over it as he visited Fawkes. The bird nipped at his fingers, drawing a drop of blood. Simon hissed at the bird who flapped her wings and squawked. The headmaster cleared his throat, bringing a pause to his battle with the phoenix.

"Deal. I will announce your arrival tomorrow."

"I also want to ensure the room of requirement for use."

"Whatever for?"

"Harry's training. I will train him with the assistance of one of your professors."

"Minerva, I presume?"

Simon snorted in amusement. "No, I want Severus."

"You're mad!" he chuckled, "I've tried to have them cooperate with each other for years."

"It will work, I assure you."

"Good luck. Now are we done here?"

"Yes. See you tomorrow evening."

Simon walked to the doorway, pausing on the threshold. "Oh, and the blood wards are down at the Dursleys. You might want to look into that," Simon chirped happily.

Then he departed, strolling back to the chamber of secrets for a well-needed rest.

* * *

**Hello readers. So this chapter as you see was mostly Simon and his memories. I wanted to establish what the main differences were between this world and his, and also establish his relationship with Draco! I know many people will be like, "You have 4 gay characters? WTF jasdlfkjs!" Okay, first of all it's been scientifically proven that with identical twins, if one of them is gay, the chance of the other also being gay is VERY high. Genetics and all that jazz. And as far as I see it, Draco was gay in the books too. :P**

And I know that I've been focusing too much on Simon due to my love for him, but from now on I will resist his sexiness and write more about Harry, our main character! Harry been a little bitch to write but I will persist. I do love him.

Anyways, I hope you liked it and will review. Next chapter I have a bunch of plot holes to tie up and questions to answer (many of them from my reviewers...). Unfortunately, my next chapter will take a little while. I have senior awards night, a creative writing show, graduation, and grad night (not to mention finals -_-). BUT this summer since I have no life there will be a LOT of updates. Yay!

PLEASE REVIEW YES?

-thunderspeak :)


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